Tuesday night was Anna Netrebko Night at the Metropolitan Opera, as the starry Russian soprano sang the title role of Gounod’s “Roméo et Juliette” — one of the title roles, anyway. Of necessity, there was a Roméo.

Ms. Netrebko was not problem-free, and we’ll address her problems first: She has a tendency to Russify everything she sings. On Tuesday night, her French sometimes sounded Russian, and so did her singing. Was this Juliette or Tatiana? Also, she sharped, as she has a habit of doing. And, once or twice, she all but bellowed, up top.

Furthermore, her “Je veux vivre” — the aria also known as “Juliet’s Waltz” — was mediocre. It was far less saucy, lilting, and endearing than it can be. And far less refined.

But enough of the negative stuff: In general, Ms. Netrebko sang fabulously well, oozing charm, oozing charisma, and oozing vocal excellence. In Acts IV and V, she was close to faultless, singing with almost no encumbrance whatsoever. She was as good in her quiet moments as in her soaring ones. And her French could be quite beautiful: as in “Adieu mille fois.”

And how did she look, this worldwide pin-up? Not too shabby. Anytime Anna Netrebko is on a balcony, a boy will look up.

The boy looking up on Tuesday night was Roberto Alagna, the Italian-French tenor. (He was born in Paris to Sicilian parents.) His Roméo is a rightly admired one, but he, too, had problems: There was more bleat in his tenor than I had ever heard before. And he sometimes used too much force, sounding now and then a bit shouty. The aria “Ah! lève-toi, soleil!” need not be that heroic (let’s say). It can be more lyrical, more sinuous, more French.

Worse, he scooped up into notes, all evening long. That is, he approached them from the south, sliding into them. A little of this is perfectly acceptable, and, indeed, traditional. But Mr. Alagna abused the privilege. His first note of “Nuit d’hyménée” sounded like the clarinet glissando that begins “Rhapsody in Blue.”

Otherwise, he sang with considerable freedom, beauty, and élan. The world is not long on tenors at the moment, and this is a good one — actually, an underrated, and too frequently picked on, one. Also, Mr. Alagna seemed aptly youthful. At one point, he leapt — and I mean leapt — into bed with Juliette. The bass from Iceland, Kristinn Sigmundsson, reprised the role of Friar Laurence. He had sung it when this production — by Guy Joosten — debuted two seasons ago. Again, he was powerful, authoritative, and musical. And, once more, the Mercutio was Stéphane Debout, the French baritone. He was notably suave and assured. Tybalt was Marc Heller, who was pretty suave and assured himself. This tenor sang both creamily and incisively — and he was particularly good in death.

Coming back as the Nurse was the mezzo-soprano Jane Bunnell. She was very solid, as always. It would be nice to hear her in larger, non-Nursey roles. Paris was the baritone Louis Otey, who sang stoutly. Capulet was another baritone, John Hancock (no word on his signature). He sang emphatically, sometimes beautifully. It was hard to hear him in the lower register. David Won made a fine Grégorio, Tony Stevenson filled the bill as Benvolio, and Dean Patterson, as the Duke of Verona, both looked and sounded dukely. The Met chorus, I’m happy to say, outdid itself. To cite only one example, its hushed, almost prayerful singing in the Prologue was superb.

In 2005, the mezzo Joyce DiDonato came on in the little role of Stéphano and lit up the Met stage like a Christmas tree. Singing Stéphano on this occasion was young Isabel Leonard, making her Met debut. She raised eyebrows with the New York Philharmonic last season. And, on Tuesday night, she was full of confidence and spunk. When the crowd roared for her at the end, she seemed genuinely touched, maybe a little surprised.

Leading the opera in the pit was a first-class Roméo himself, Plácido Domingo, the tenor-conductor. (He also plays the piano.) The prelude to “R&J” told the tale of Mr. Domingo’s conducting: The fugal portion was not quite together; but a romantic heart was in evidence. Throughout the opera, Mr. Domingo would have problems with coordination (though these diminished as the evening wore on). But he conducted with tender loving care — emotional care. And that counts for a lot.

The strings, I should say, were warm — very warm — just as Gounod demands.

And it was a pleasure to see Mr. Joostens’s production again: with itsstarsandplanets, throughatelescope. (The lovers are star-crossed, get it?) When the production debuted, they had a problem with the floating bed — it malfunctioned. This week, however, smooth sailing.

I ask you: Will artists ever tire of “Romeo and Juliet”? Will humanity? Almost certainly not. Gounod wrote a keen and underrated opera, and Prokofiev wrote an even better ballet. Of course, Shakespeare’s play isn’t bad either.