The Metropolitan Opera has revived a relative rarity, namely “The Gambler,” by Prokofiev. This was the composer’s first opera, completed in 1917 – he was 25. The story comes from a novella by Dostoevsky. Prokofiev’s work is not to be confused with another gambling opera from Russia: Tchaikovsky’s “Pique Dame” (based on a short story by Pushkin). There are gambling operas aplenty.

Prokofiev’s is a talky show, without arias, duets, or the like. It is not excerptable. And it is brash, coarse, menacing, ugly — deliberately so. This is not to say there aren’t moments of beauty; but these are moments, fleeting. And when the opera is comic, as it often is, it is frightening-comic — not pleasant-comic. Valery Gergiev was the first to conduct “The Gambler” at the Metropolitan Opera. That was in 2001. Mr. Gergiev has introduced Western audiences to many, many Russian operas, serving as a Johnny Appleseed for this repertoire. Time was, many people knew only “Eugene Onegin,” “Boris Godunov,” and maybe a couple of others. No longer.

On Thursday night, Mr. Gergiev was back — and he conducted “The Gambler” with alertness, energy, and sympathy. He sometimes seems a madman of the podium, or pit, but not on this occasion: He was measured, no doubt knowing that the score contains enough wildness by itself. Mr. Gergiev has had more electric nights; but this evening was intelligently governed. And there were several instances of classic Gergievian tension — and classic Prokofievian tension, come to that: One such was when the character called Grammy was off gambling away her money. “Tension City,” as the first President Bush used to say. Mr. Gergiev brought back the cast from his 2001 premiere essentially unchanged. The cast was full of stout, ready, Russian voices. And they were led by Vladimir Galouzine, who had the best night I have heard from him. He took the part of Alexei, a long, demanding part in a short opera. Alexei seems to be singing for the entire two hours, most of it at the forte or fortissimo level. And Mr. Galouzine was equal to this task.

He sang with abandon, but never lost his head. He sang on the breath, never fraying or cracking. He was as fresh at the end of the show as at the beginning. He was athletic and swaggering, but also musical. After the final curtain, when Mr. Gergiev joined the cast onstage, he greeted Mr. Galouzine excitedly. That was certainly right.

The wonderful soprano Olga Guryakova was Polina. She exhibited the wobbles, which was worrying. But she also exhibited warmth, lyric power, and overall command. She has a grasp on this part, musically and theatrically. She strode about the stage with remarkable self-possession. And she looked beautiful, as always — particularly in her fancy dress, complemented by parasol.

That said, she was chilling at the end, conveying Polina’s madness (if madness it be).

The bass Sergei Aleksashkin was the General, blustery, as he should have been, but also trying to maintain dignity. Mr. Aleksashkin is a canny performer. So is Nikolai Gassiev, the tenor portraying the Marquis. He is in the tradition of real singing actors. The mezzo Olga Savova, as Blanche, was duly imperious and snotty. And John Hancock, an American baritone, made a fine Mr. Astley. This is not a signature role, but you can leave a mark in it. And Mr. Hancock was smooth, resonant, and just a little oily — appropriately so.

Last time around, in 2001, the famed mezzo-soprano Elena Obraztsova was Grammy. This time around, it was Larissa Diadkova, one of the most exciting and rewarding mezzos of recent years. You can almost steal the show as Grammy; and Ms. Diadkova took full advantage of her part. She was scalding, in her fur and wheelchair — a pleasure to watch and hear.

This role, like that of the Countess in “Pique Dame,” may be considered a role for the end of a woman’s singing career. But let us hope that Ms. Diadkova has many more years to go.

In Prokofiev’s opera, the casino has a host of denizens, and they are grotesque and human, all at once. The Met’s were splendid. Each was an individual, contributing to a motley whole.

As for the production, it springs from Temur Chkheidze (with sets by George Tsypin, costumes by Georgi Alexi-Meskhishvili, and lights by James F. Ingalls). This is a strange production, for a strange opera. In other words, it is right-seeming. It swirls and fizzes and snorts like the score. The production is both modern and traditional. The sets are abstract, with a touch of the Emerald City, and of Vegas. The costumes are of the period (and marvelous). This juxtaposition works very well.

And I’ll tell you about an element I don’t remember from 2001. Toward the end of the opera, a singer comes bounding down the aisle, on the right side of the orchestra section. He then sings at the wall of the pit (looking toward the stage). Normally, Met ushers won’t let you in after the music begins. For example, you can’t go to the restroom and come back. Good thing they are making an exception for that singer. But does he have to show a ticket?