“Simon Boccanegra” returned to the Metropolitan Opera on Monday night, with a starry cast. And the cast responded starrily. In addition, the conductor in the pit had an excellent night. So “Simon Boccanegra” really scored. The Met provided the kind of experience you might say it exists to provide.

Verdi wrote this opera in 1857, during his middle period — his late middle period. “Simon Boccanegra” lies between “The Sicilian Vespers” and “A Masked Ball.” Verdi revised the work extensively in 1881, and after that there are only two operas: “Otello” and “Falstaff.”

The plot of “Simon Boccanegra”? I should not get into it, because there needs to be room left in this newspaper for world events and sports scores. The story takes place in medieval Genoa, and is packed with intrigue. Opera plots have the right to be operatic, but this one almost abuses the privilege.

The title role was taken by Thomas Hampson, the baritone from Spokane, Washington. This is one of the great baritone roles extant, and Mr. Hampson seems to relish it. He is now 51, and every inch a Boccanegra. He did not have a perfect night, vocally, but he had a good one — and he was a very strong dramatic presence. This character is called on to be a swaggering hotshot, a wise leader, and a tender father (plus other things). Mr. Hampson expressed all of this.

And he did this with his singing, not least. His cry of “M’odi” — “Hear me” — was rightly terrible. When he spoke of a man “pale with fear,” you could hear that: a paleness from fear. Toward the end of this story, Boccanegra is poisoned, and Mr. Hampson gave us pathos, but not melodrama — commendable.

In the role of Fiesco was the Italian bass Ferruccio Furlanetto. He is a splendid singer, and, more to the point, a splendid singing actor. His King Philip (from Verdi’s “Don Carlo”) is one of the great portrayals in opera; and his Fiesco is not dissimilar. The aria “Il lacerato spirito” was duly lacerating. And, throughout the night, Mr. Furlanetto’s voice — elegant, glowing — easily filled the house. In fact, his volume was startling: Almost all the singers around him sounded muted, though their voices were higher.

It was a treat to see Messrs. Hampson and Furlanetto work together, play off each other. Here were two bona fide pros.

Our soprano, singing Amelia, was the Romanian superstar Angela Gheorghiu. Amelia begins with a wonderful, brief aria, “Come in quest’ora bruna” — and Ms. Gheorghiu was not at her best in it. She was tentative, and not absolutely certain of pitch. But if that is the worst you can do, you are a superstar, indeed! For the rest of the evening, she was certain of everything, singing effortlessly, attractively, and intelligently. Though she is a lyric soprano, she can throw some power at you. And her lower register is surprisingly substantial.

Angela Gheorghiu tends to be hated by crabbed critics and chat-room loons. Wisely, she ignores them — and goes from triumph to triumph.

The tenor, portraying Adorno, was the Italian Marcello Giordani, who was as he usually is: heroic, ringing, virile. He had many good notes. He also had many bad notes, and was on the whole stiff and strained. His big aria was ungainly, without nuance. But even when he has an off night, he must be credited with singing a superb Italian.

A Ukrainian baritone, Vassily Gerello, was Paolo, and he was adequate, sometimes better. Paolo’s sidekick, Pietro, was the American bass-baritone Richard Bernstein, rich and vibrant of voice. He has a knack for standing out, even in a small role — he did that recently in a Met “Onegin,” too.

The aforementioned conductor was Fabio Luisi, who, appropriately for “Simon Boccanegra,” is Genoa-born. He conducted with a full heart and mind, not doing anything by rote. The Prologue began with unusual warmth and fluidity; and Act I began with unusual delicacy, plus a hint of tragedy. On the debit side, the accompaniment to “Come in quest’ora bruna” was oddly loud and clunky.

Forgetting the cavils, Mr. Luisi performed with striking musical and dramatic awareness, and the orchestra was an invaluable participant in this drama. The Met’s chorus played an important part, too. Their soft singing was fresh and accurate. The sopranos really wailed on — and whaled on — their high Cs. And when the chorus hurled a curse, they well and truly hurled a curse.

The production was that of Giancarlo del Monaco, from 1995. (Mr. del Monaco is the son of the late, acclaimed tenor Mario.) This production supports the opera, rather than getting in its way — which makes it very old-fashioned indeed. If the “New Met” ever deep-sixes such productions, they will deep-six the Met.

Yes, it was an old-fashioned night at the opera: top singing, top playing, top conducting, a non-screwy production.