I adored this—not as much as La Rondine, but who cares! Who would've guessed my favorite thing about this season at the Met would be Angela Gheorghiu? Who frankly still seems like a bit of a loon—which is fine by me—or at least the kind of performer who is inhabiting her own special world onstage, where she's connecting with both her co-singers and the audience yet always seems to be talking to herself. Also fine by me, since talking to myself is one of my most marketable skills. p.s. that's a lie. And this opera was the nuttiest of the bunch, by far, so over-the-top silly I can't even describe it with my usual sharp, critical eye. (!) But again, silly is expected and joy was all. And Dmitri Pittas as Nemorino—cool name for a cat or a robot or something, no?—might be my #2 favorite thing about the season, a sort of bumblefuck Candide-type naif who gets both the money and the girl in the end, and mostly by turning into a wino. #3 would be Simone Alaimo as Doctor Dulcamara, who made me laugh in Italian. Bravo! The pretty costumes were plucked straight from an Easter basket—robin egg blue, bubble gum pink, baby chick yellow—and the set itself was like walking out of a downpour into the middle of a rainbow. Sigh. Sniff. Swoon. See you next year, Big House.