The Metropolitan Opera has a new production of “The Barber of Seville,” Rossini’s opera-buffa masterpiece. It comes courtesy of Bartlett Sher, director of “The Light in the Piazza,” a hit at Lincoln Center.

In a program note for the Met, Mr. Sher pens the following, remarkable effusion: “In a time when even the Met finds itself in the process of extraordinary change, it is a wonder — and our good fortune — to have Rossini to speak fully and boldly, to help us, perhaps, to get a whiff of the wind of change and transformation of a previous century, and help clarify what we are going through now.”

Right. And what is this “extraordinary change” at the Met — I mean, beyond program notes of that nature? Also, what does Mr. Sher mean by “even the Met” — that it was once a stuffy, hidebound institution? It seems likely.

The “New Met,” as current management unblushingly calls itself, ought to avoid insulting the “Old Met,” which was merely the greatest opera company in the world. And what has the “New Met” done, that it should be so immodest? By my count, one so-so production of “Madama Butterfly” and a PR campaign.

Mr. Sher puts his stamp on “The Barber.”He wraps a makeshift stage around the orchestra, so that singers sometimes give the impression of being in the first rows. I suppose that this is thought to lend intimacy. I would point out that a good singer — a good opera performer — can achieve intimacy from a broom closet in the bowels of the building. And a poor performer will fail even when sitting in an audience member’s lap.

The director catches attention in other ways, too. He has the action begin while the overture is still being played. He has Count Almaviva begin from the audience. He has Figaro enter on a cart pulled by a clutch of women. He has a little girl-on-girl action — suggesting that the Europeanization of the Met has well and truly begun. Critics will love it.

Onstage, a series of doors is moved about, and it is often unclear whether the characters are outside or in. Physically, the production feels small scale, too small for the Met, a grand house, whether directors like it or not. Why not take advantage? You can work in itty-bitty houses anytime.

Throughout the opera, oranges appear, rather as in “The Godfather.” What Mr. Sher intends, I cannot tell you — maybe they’re just oranges. Also, this production is curiously dark, for a “Barber.” I am referring to lighting (and a gross, somber backdrop). “The Barber” is an Italian, sun-kissed score, and the story unfolds in Seville. Why so dark?

But enough of my kvetching. No one can endorse every aspect of a production, and Mr. Sher is obviously a talent. There are many touches to smile at. I would caution this, however: Self-conscious cleverness is a bane of art, and so is difference for difference’s sake. Opera companies must watch that.

The Met has certainly arranged a fine cast for this show: Rosina is Diana Damrau, perhaps the leading coloratura soprano in the world right now. She almost caused a riot when she made her Met debut as Zerbinetta in Strauss’s “Ariadne auf Naxos” last season. (This, despite the fact that nothing exciting ever happened at the “Old Met,”dull and unimaginative as it was.) Almaviva is Juan Diego Flórez, undisputed king of Rossini tenors. Together, Ms. Damrau and Mr. Flórez can probably sing more notes than any other pair on the planet.

On Monday night, Ms. Damrau was as dazzling as ever, singing with incredible ease. She could do anything with her voice that she wanted — and she was no wallflower. Her “Una voce poco fa” was extremely hammy, outlandish. But, you know? If you got it, flaunt it – and Ms. Damrau certainly has it. Her Rosina is about as much fun as you can have in an opera house.

I might add that the Italian of this German is first-rate — natural, and un-Germanic.

Mr. Flórez sang well too, although he sharped all night long. He has that little bleat — a hidden goat — in his voice, but it soon becomes endearing, at least to me.

Figaro was portrayed by the baritone Peter Mattei, who demonstrated wonderful support — vocal support — and theatrical swagger. The bass-baritone John Del Carlo made a splendid Don Bartolo, in part for this reason: He knows that Bartolo takes himself seriously — he may be a buffoon to others, but he is not one to himself.

And doing a turn as the music teacher, Don Basilio, was Samuel Ramey, the pride of Colby, Kansas. Though the voice is now wobbly, it belongs to a complete operatic professional. “La calunnia” was interesting — heavier than usual, but with a touch of Scarpia. Mr. Ramey badly flatted on the high G that ends the aria. But he made up for it elsewhere — for example, with a right-on low F later in the opera.

In the pit, things were really uneven. Maurizio Benini led an overture so poor, it was shocking. You could hardly believe you were at the Met. The orchestra was muted, and also ragged. This radiant, and mischievous, overture had no sparkle, no tension – no anything. Through much of Act I, a lethargy prevailed. Music that ought to be on a pinpoint was on a strand of limp spaghetti. But the performance eventually woke up, and stayed largely awake in Act II. I credit Ms. Damrau with enlivening all involved. It’s hard to be sleepy when she’s around.

A footnote, if you will: The “New Met” has been hanging banners across the house’s façade. At present there is a banner reading “Il Barbiere di Siviglia,” with a bunch of oranges and a lone chair. Now, the Met happens to possess what may be the best façade in New York. It is the most impressive thing about Lincoln Center. Why mar it with cheesy banners? Say what you want about the “Old Met” It knew not to deface a façade.