[And, finally, no 12 Days of White Shirt Christmas would be complete without a screencap from this production, which I still have not overcome, but then, why would I want to overcome this level of peak White Shirt pining, when I can just be overcome with it? – Myrtò Papatanasiu (Sifare) in Mozart’s “Mitridate, rè di Ponto”, Paris/TCE 2016]
…
On the twelfth Day of Christmas, the White Shirts sent to me:
one supremely pining Prince of Ponto.
.
.
.
.
and…
…one call for the nightingale, and the nightingale only:

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…one Southern Italian dude who probably makes a mean espresso (with lots of crema):

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…one apparition in a tux who is out to raise the dead:

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…one perpetually horizontal pageboy:

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…one night with enough champagne to put the blame on it (though obviously, it was the mezzo):

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…one case of mezzo sleeve art to keep framed against the wall:

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…one delighted look at the menu that, today, serves Warrior Prince(ss):

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…one soprano/mezzo entanglement island getaway:

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…one upstanding, cross-dressing contralto shirt collar:

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…one smirking muse at the mic, with a soprano on her arm:

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…a poet with the first edition of “The Oak Tree”.

…
There is no overcoming it. There is only being overcome *by* it.
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Hear, hear!
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It is so much more difficult to watch than the analogous expression of Octavian losing the Feldmarschallin, because there is no readily available alternative. This is entirely serious, and however unbearable it must be born.
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