Carmen is an opera about sex and violence and racism. It’s probably the best known opera of all time.

Micaela, a peasant girl, is in love with Don Jose. Don Jose falls for the gypsy Carmen, who works in the cigarette factory. When Carmen get into it at the factory with another woman, it is Don Jose who is asked to take her off to jail. Carmen sweet talks him into letting her escape. Don Jose goes to jail for a month for being such a dork.

In act two Carmen is waiting for him to get out of prison, while an officer, some soldiers and a bullfighter all try to capture her heart. It doesn’t work. Her friends try to get her to go help their smuggling friends with some smuggling, but she go because she’s meeting Don Jose at the inn later. Once they meet up, Don Jose defies his officer and stays at the inn with Carmen – who is the girl his mother warned him about.

In act three their stuck in a smuggler’s hideout. He get reminiscent for his comfy bed and home cooked meals, and Carmen calls him a big dumb pansy. Carmen’s friends tell fortunes with a deck of cards – all sunshine and roses for them, but Carmen and Don Jose are going down hard.

Micaela, in search of Don Jose, finds her way to the hideout. The bullfighter finds his way to the hideout. It’s not a very good hideout. There’s fighting and pleading and lying and finally Don Jose goes with Micaela, promising to return to Carmen, who’s totally over him.

In the last act there’s bullfighting and treachery but I can’t tell you more because I don’t want to ruin it (someone dies).

I’ve been worried about telling you about Franz Lehar’s The Merry Widow because it takes place at the Pontevedrian Embassy and, having never been to Pontevedro, I didn’t know how to pronounce it. Imagine my delight at discovering that it’s a fictitious Balkan state – so I can’t possibly pronounce it wrong. I don’t remember where I read that, but it was on the internet so it must be true. Pronounce it however you wish. You have my blessings.

Anyway. There’s a party at the Pontevedrian Embassy, in Paris. Baron Zeta doesn’t notice his wife flirting with the attache because he’s in a dither about Hanna who may or may not marry a Parisian because Parisians are cute and she is a widow. A merry one.

Zeta doesn’t like the idea because if she marries a Parisian her wealth will leave Pontevedro – bankrupting the country. Her husband, the dead one, not the potential one, left her a pile of dough. Enough to run a small country, apparently.

Zeta’s wife, Valencienne, continues flirting.

Count Danilo Danilovich arrives after staying out at Maxim’s for several nights running so he falls asleep in the pile of coats in the guestroom. Hannah finds him and wakes him up. It turns out they had a thing for each other in their youth, but Danilo’s aristocratic family shut them down. Now Danilo refuses to tell Hannah he loves her because everyone who claims to love her is really just in love with her money and he’s not so into that

Oh he is so cute I can’t stand it

Zeta tells Danilo he has to marry Hannah, for the good of his country.  They dance, but not together.

The next evening everyone goes to Hannah’s house for a party. That’s what I love about operas. It’s always party, party, party. This is where things get sticky. Zeta and Danilo go off to the summerhouse to watch football, not realizing that Zeta’s wife, Valencienne is in there with her attache, hopefully not attacheed. Zeta’s aide, rescues Valencienne out the back door. Zeta’s pretty sure he saw his wife in there and is quite surprised to find Hannah in the summerhouse with Camille (the attache) which makes it look to Danilo as though she’s the one having the fling with Camille. She’s a stinker, that merry widow. Danilo stomps off to Maxim’s.

In order to make him feel more at home, Hannah transforms her parlor into a replica of Maxim’s – dancing girls and all. Danilo realizes Hannah never meant to marry Camille and admits he loves her. Zeta realizes his wife has been carrying on with Camille and demands a divorce, saying he’ll marry Hannah instead. Valencienne gets out of her pickle by showing her husband the note on her fan that says she totally didn’t just cheat on him.

And then everyone runs around in circles and the people who are in chairs when the music stops get to marry each other.

What says summer like watching people suffer in love? Go ahead and spend your day being all happy at the beach, and then go watch six Very Sad, Tragic Operas! It’s the stuff summer memories are made of.

The Metropolitan Opera has taken pity on those of us who need to stay out of the sun and is encoring (is that a word?) some of their Smash Hits in HD. Here’s the schedule, linked to the totally unauthorized synopses:

Verdi’s Aida
Wed., June 16, 6:30 pm
Conductor: Daniele Gatti; Production: Sonja Frisell; Violeta Urmana, Dolora Zajick, Johan Botha, Carlo Guelfi, Roberto Scandiuzzi, Stefan Kocán

Gounod’s Roméo et Juliette
Wed., June 23, 6:30 pm
Conductor: Plácido Domingo; Production: Guy Joosten; Anna Netrebko, Isabel Leonard, Roberto Alagna, Nathan Gunn, Robert Lloyd

Tchaikovsky’s Eugene Onegin
Wed., July 7, 6:30 pm
Conductor: Valery Gergiev; Production: Robert Carsen; Renée Fleming, Ramón Vargas, Dmitri Hvorostovsky, Sergei Aleksashkin

Puccini’s La Bohème
Wed., July 14, 6:30 pm
Conductor: Nicola Luisotti; Production: Franco Zeffirelli; Angela Gheorghiu, Ainhoa Arteta, Ramón Vargas, Ludovic Tézier, Quinn Kelsey, Oren Gradus, Paul Plishka

Puccini’s Turandot
Wed, July 21, 6:30 pm
Conductor: Andris Nelsons; Production: Franco Zeffirelli; Maria Guleghina, Marina Poplavskaya, Marcello Giordani, Samuel Ramey

Bizet’s Carmen
Wed., July 28, 6:30 pm
Conductor: Yannick Nézet-Séguin; Production: Richard Eyre; Barbara Frittoli, Elīna Garanča, Roberto Alagna, Mariusz Kwiecien

Aida is set in Egypt because people like seeing exotic things without getting off their couches. That’s why there are so many operas about hookers. This one’s not about a hooker. It’s about the captain of the Egyptian guard, Radames, who is in love with an Ethiopian slave, Aida. Aida is the slave of the Egyptian Princess Amneris, who is in love with Radames.

The Ethiopians are coming and Isis tells Radames to go  conquer them. Isis isn’t actually in this opera. She’s working flex time and telecommutes.

The Ethiopian army is lead by Amonasro, king of Ethiopia. Amonasro happens to be Aida’s father, which everyone in Egypt would know if they had read the synopsis in their programs. Aida does not know which team colors to wear.

Radames comes back victorious, trailing several captors including the man he would like to call his father in law. Amonasro is dressed as a captain and although Aida greets him as his father, they still don’t know he’s king. The people all say to have pity on the captors. The priests say that sounds like a good idea and they’ll get right on it after they’ve had them killed. The king of Egypt congratulates Radames and invites him to marry his daughter. Considering what kind of mood the priests are in, Radames doesn’t mention his preference for Aida.

Amonasro, who is kind of a jerk, reminds Aida that Radames just killed a bunch of her friends and conquered her homeland. She’s unphased by this logic.

Radames had figured that if he conquered the Ethiopians, he’d be able to come home and marry Aida. He’s just not that into Egyptian princesses (especially kind of bitchy ones). Aida suggests they run off together and Radames spills the beans that the Egyptian army will be going through a super secret pass the next day so it will be unguarded and they can go that way. The king of Ethiopia then blows it all by triumphantly announcing to anyone who will listen that Radames is a traitor and the Ethiopians will now sneakily attack them in the super secret pass, because no one had invented or cracked the Enigma yet. Or figured out how to read ahead in the programs, for that matter.

Radames is tried as a traitor and the priests, who are still in a mood, announce that he should be buried alive. Radames goes into his brandy spandy new tomb which they’ve prepared for just such an occasion and as they push the big stone closed over his head, he notices that Aida is in the tomb with him. She snuck in the night before and no one thought to stop her because who wants to be in a tomb that’s about to be sealed if you’re not actually dead yet?

The next bit requires some stage trickery because Aida and Radames are singing in the tomb while Amneris et al are above, wringing their hands (or toasting themselves, depending). Everyone sings and then - you know I spoil all the surprise endings, right? - they die. For good measure, Amneris comes around just in time to be equally miserable (but less dead).

Armida is one of those operas you don’t see very much because it’s really, really hard to perform. There are 6 tenor parts - all of which are for good tenors, not sucky tenors. It’s a bel canto opera and the role of Armida is written for a coloratura soprano (check the glossary).

Armida is a pagan sorceress who is in love with a Christian soldier during the first crusade. She’s come to the soldiers in disguise in the first act, asking for their help. Her evil uncle has usurped her throne and she needs them to make him give it back. While it’s true that her uncle is evil, the rest is hogwash. Armida and her uncle plan to weaken the Christian army by taking away some of their men.

The men agree and they chose Rinaldo as their new leader. This makes Gernando angry enough to provoke Rinaldo to duel. While Gernando does not suck as a tenor, he does suck as a soldier and Rinaldo kills him.

That’s bad.

Fearing retribution, Rinaldo allows Armida to whisk him away in a poof of sorcery.

They arrive in act two on a cloud drawn by dragons. We get a glimpse of their new home before they arrive and one can’t help but notice it’s infested with demons. If we were wondering if Armida is a good witch or a bad witch, the demons (especially the baritone ones) give all but the incredibly slow among us our answer. Rinaldo, who is cute, brave and incredibly slow, does not seem to notice.

In fact, he becomes even more in love with Armida than he was in act 1. It’s sickening, really. Armida has taken him to a secret island and has provided every delight imaginable (sort of). For instance, there’s a ballet scene that’s like “okay so we don’t have a big screen tv or ESPN, but look! A ballet about football!” The brave but completely whipped Rinaldo loses all desire to save Christianity. Holy land? What holy land?

In act 3, two knights (Ubaldo and Carlo), come to rescue Rinaldo. They think it’s a pretty swell island until they get a whiff of the demons. They see the lovers together (off stage somewhere) and are horrified to note that Rinaldo and Armida have taken to wearing matching sweatshirts and are making up pet names for each other. They hide behind a butterfly bush.

Armida has to go do something. She doesn’t say what but clearly she needs some “me” time. Ubaldo and Carlo rush out after she goes and try to hurry Rinaldo along. He hesitates and they show him his reflection in a magic shield. He gasps in horror when he realizes he is still carrying Armida’s purse after their trip to the mall.

Ubaldo and Carlo drag Rinaldo away kicking and screaming.

Armida comes back for her purse and finds Rinaldo gone. She goes after them and has herself a first class moral struggle. She loves him, but she kind of wants to kill him anyway.

I won’t spoil it by telling you what happens when she catches up to him and he leaves anyway.

(Furies are invoked. Oh yes they are.)

It’s okay, I didn’t know there was a Hamlet opera either. It’s by Ambroise Thomas.

The opera Hamlet is very much like the play Hamlet except for the places where it’s not. I guess the original libretto had Hamlet still alive at the end but then the audience was so upset they gathered their pitchforks and torches and were all set to go onstage and kill Hamlet themselves. So they changed it and now everyone ends up dead at the end, all tidy like.

Apropos of nothing, I now have a giant crush on Simon Keenlyside. We will not speak of it again.

So. Claudius marries Gertrude after they knock off King Hamlet. Prince Hamlet is sulky. Ophelia (Marlis Petersen) cheers him up because he loves her and besides, she only arrived from Vienna 3 days before the opera opened and we should all be very, very nice to her. That won’t stop her from killing herself, though.

Ophelia’s brother, Laërte, is leaving for Norway and asks Hamlet to take good care of his sister while he’s gone. Since Hamlet is obviously starting to go a little wobbly in the head, this is like asking a dog to watch your food. It might have been okay except Hamlet’s friends, Scooby and Shaggy, show up and are all “zoikes! a ghost!” and sure enough, King Hamlet’s ghost starts rattling around all creepy-like.

Scooby and Shaggy run off to make themselves a pastrami sandwich in the castle’s kitchen while Dead King Hamlet tells his son that he was poisoned by Claudius who I forgot to mention is his brother. Claudius killed his brother, married his wife, and took his crown. King Hamlet’s soul has been released from hell so he can have a little chat with Hamlet and talk him into killing Claudius. Is it just me, or does it seem like a bad idea to follow instructions from someone/something recently “released from hell?”

Hamlet pretends he’s off his rocker but there was an awful lot of inbreeding back in those days so I’m not totally convinced it was an act. He pulls that old “reenact the crime as a farce” trick and when Claudius blanches, Hamlet jumps up on the banquet table, pours red wine all over himself and suddenly you’re wondering when you started watching Carrie.

Then he’s a jerk to Ophelia. He was already being a jerk but when he found out Ophelia’s father was in on the plot, that really pushes him over the edge. He tells Ophelia to “get thee to a nunnery.”

Note: It was dangerous being a woman in love in those days. When they were betrayed or their betrothed went off their rockers, the women either killed themselves or  just up and died. Now we’d let all the air out of Hamlet’s tires and sell his stuff while he was trying to figure out how to get home from work with four flat tires.

I have not actually done that.

There is no place to drown so Ophelia:

• goes crazy
• stabs herself
• sings
• cuts both wrists
• sings some more
• lies down in a dead-like manner
• hears choirs of angels
• gets up
• sings some more
• and dies.

For no particular reason, Hamlet shows up at the graveyard as her grave is being dug. Laërte shows up and is all “nice job, jerk.” He challenges Hamlet to a duel and they stab each other. Laërte dies first. The funeral procession files in and suddenly Hamlet realizes the grave is for Ophelia. The Ghost of King Hamlet Past shows up for everyone to see. Claudius says “and I would have gotten away with it too, if it weren’t for you meddling kids” just as Hamlet stabs him. Hamlet dies next to Ophelia. Castle Elsinore may or may not get sold to a developer and turned into a shopping mall now that the ghost has been avenged.

The end.

Salome is perhaps the reason I like opera.

When I was in high school, a french horn player named Michael Gast played Salome for me. He explained what was happening in the music as well as the plot. It was like watching a hockey game with someone who not only knew about hockey, but knew rude stories about all the players. There are a lot of rude stories about the players in Salome.

Watching it now, there’s something familiar about this opera but I can’t quite put my finger on it. There’s lingerie and death and sex and more sex and death and cryptic innuendo and… sweet baby Elmo, I’m watching a Lady Gaga video.

As with many of the best sex and violence operas, Salome is a Bible story. It’s the story of King Herod, his prisoner John the Baptist/Jokanaan and his stepdaughter Salome. Herod recognizes that John/Jokanaan is in tight with God and doesn’t especially want to turn him over for execution because, you know, plagues of locusts, 40 days 40 nights, whale indigestion, blah blah blah. Herod is also a lecherous ass.

The whole opera takes place on one set, which probably pissed the union right off. In the middle of the set is a grill covering a pit which leads to the green room in which Jokanaan hangs out. He sings up through the grill just often enough to make everyone nervous.

Narraboth, the captain of the guard, starts the ball rolling with his wing man, the page. The page warns him about Salome, but Narraboth’s eyes go all twirly and he won’t shut up about her until Jokanaan starts bellowing biblical prophecy. Note: do not invite prophecy-spewing guests to parties and leave the opening to their prisons where people can hear them.

Salome comes away from the feast because she can’t stand how Herod looks at her. She hears Jokanaan and asks who he is. She quizes the guards about him, and then asks to see him. The guards are not down with that and, since they are probably eunics, don’t give in. Narabaath is not a eunic.

He brings out Jokanaan, who launches into a tirade about Herodias - Salome’s mother/current wife of Herod. Herodias richly deserves his wrath. Salome listens and thinks he’s a total dreamboat, or at least her kind of effed-up. Jokanaan asks who she is and when she identifies herself as the daughter of Herodias he tells her to go to the wilderness and eat nuts and berries until she’s redeemed of the Lord. She counter-offers with a suggestion to just do it right here, right now. Narraboth is all kinds of jealous and kills himself. No one notices. Salome keeps begging Jokanaan to kiss her.

“I’ll be in my dungeon if anyone needs me” Jokanaan mutters over his shoulder, descending back into the pit/green room and pulling the grate shut behind him.

Herod and Herodias appear and Herod asks for Salome in a manner inappropriate to their stepfather - stepdaughter relationship. Herodias may or may not junk kick him and tell him to stop being such an a-hole.

Jokanaan puts in his two cents. Herodias tells him to zip it and taunts Herod for being afraid of him. Herod waxes theological, Nazarenes talk of miracles, Herodias is annoyed and the choir dozes. On a roll, Herod asks Salome to dance for him, summoning her stripper pole. She says no. He says “please oh please I’ll give you a pony.” She says no. He says “anything you want! I’ll give you anything you want! Pleeeeeeeze…..?”

“Promise?”

He promises on a stack of lunch meat. Salome dances. There is nudity. And then she asks for the head of Jokanaan on a silver platter. Herod faints. Herodias cheers. She gives his ring to the soldiers and issues the command.

In the dungeon the soldiers are all drawing straws. Salome waits, tapping her watch. Finally the head appears.

Salome takes the head, reminds it of the refused kiss, and snogs the severed head of Jokanaan.

Herod screams like a little girl and tells the soldiers to kill her. They do.

The end.

What do you mean you don’t know this story?

There have been several Romeo and Juliet operas written, but the one you’re likely to see is by Gounod. You may know Gounod by such runaway hits as Faust and Mireille. Gounod wrote 14 operas, most of which were not especially successful and two of which he wrote after he died.

Or posthumously. Whatever.

The opera starts with Romeo and Mercutio crashing a Capulet party. They’re there because Romeo had a dream and since it’s a masked ball, they mostly get away with it. In the Ballad of Queen Mab, Mercutio blames the dream on Romeo eating spicy foods before bed.

Also at the party is Paris, who’s supposed to be marrying Juliet but is awfully ho hum about her. Either he’s gay or he has something against marrying teenage girls. We will never know.

Romeo chats up Juliet. They are smitten. Romeo realizes she’s a Capulet daughter. A Capulet senses a Montague disturbance in the force and Romeo and Mercutio run for their lives. The Capulets party on.

Act II is all “wherefore art thou, Romeo?” And those crazy kids decide to get married in Vegas.

Friar Laurence’s cell is closer than Vegas, so they get married there.

Everything’s going to be tickety boo and love will conquer all, until the Montagues and the Capulets decide to use each other as pin cushions. Romeo stands down and calls for a group hug. No one has any idea what he’s talking about. Tybalt (a Capulet) skewers Mercutio (Montague) and Romeo makes his first big mistake with the inlaws and kills Tybalt. Violence is never the answer - but Tybalt totally had it coming. The Duke doesn’t see it this way, and exhiles Romeo.

Romeo again sneaks into the Capulet garden and spends the night “singing” with Juliet.

Juliet asks Friar Laurence for help and he comes up with the poison that will make her seem dead but not really dead. Or it turns her into a zombie. Now that I think of it, this story could have ended much worse.

Wedding guests arrive and everyone is excited for cake. Capulet tells Juliet her moment of glory has come and she can marry Paris. Juliet says “I don’t think so” and falls at his feet in a dead-like pile. Awkward.

Romeo does not get the memo. He enters Juliet’s tomb, finds her dead, and drinks poison. Before the poison finishes him off, Juliet wakes up and they sing the “Dieu de bonté” aria, which is french for “are you effing kidding me?” Juliet finds herself inexpicably hungry for brains and stabs herself with Romeo’s dagger. They die in each other’s arms, singing for forgiveness.

The.

End.

If you are wondering what has gotten into us, we are posting fast and furiously because Trout Towers is hosting Opera Hell Week: Seven Days, Seven Operas and the Trouts’ friends need all the help they can get. The seven operas are: La Fille du Régiment, La Bohème, Tosca, Romeo and Juliet, Salome, The Barber of Seville and Magic Flute. Feel free to follow along.

They’re watching streaming HD from the Metropolitan Opera’s Met Player. It’s cheap and there are tons of operas to watch.* We at Opera Betty maintain that HD opera broadcasts are a gateway to hardcore live opera use. First one’s free.

And now, to Tosca!

I love Tosca because the first video I ever watched of it featured a not particularly attractive or svelte Tosca and when she threw herself from the ramparts she did so with the finesse and grace of a rhino on fire. It was truly hilarious and I rewound it mercilessly.

Tosca also has some of my favorite music - Scarpia’s “Va Tosca” (with the Te Deum in the background) and the scene in which Tosca is heard singing outside Scarpia’s window. Listen for it.

Act I takes place inside a church in Rome. Angelotti, an escaped political prisoner, rushes in, finds a hidden key and ducks  into one of the gated chapels. Mario Cavaradossi is painting a fresco of the Madonna in the church and returns to work soon after Angelotti’s arrival. Recognizing Mario as a fellow Bonapartist, Angelotti reveals himself. No, not like that.

Mario locks the door to the church and offers Angelotti help. The locked door rouses the suspicions of the already jealous Tosca, a famous opera singer. Opera singers are like that. He manages to shoo Tosca away, but not before she notices the Madonna looks like someone she knows. She leaves,  a ticking bomb of jealousy. The woman Mario is painting as the Madonna happens to be Angelotti’s sister but neither Tosca nor Mario know that. The only reason it’s important is the sister left clothes for Angelotti because he likes dressing in women’s clothing when he’s escaping from prison. Angelotti leaves his sister’s fan behind because it doesn’t match his eyes.

Angelotti and Mario hear the cannons signaling an escaped prisoner and dash off together. Angelotti will hide at Mario’s pad. Wearing his sister’s dress. Oh, the indignity.

Tosca comes back to find Mario gone.

Scarpia, the chief of police, wants Tosca in a not particularly healthy relationship kind of way. He finds the fan and uses it to get Tosca in a twist about Mario and Angelotti’s sister. She storms off to find Mario and Scarpia sends a spy after her. This is when he sings the “I love it when a plan comes together” aria, accompanied by a bunch of choirboys.

Act II is in Scarpia’s apartment. He’s having dinner by himself because everyone hates him. His window is open and this is when you hear Tosca singing below. He sends a message to her to come up when she’s quite finished.

The spy he sent to find Angelotti returns, without Angelotti. To appease Scarpia, he’s brought Mario instead. The two bicker about where Angelotti is long enough for Tosca to arrive. And then Scarpia sends Mario off to be tortured.

Eventually Tosca can’t stand the sound of Mario being tortured and she spills the beans. Mario is brought out and told that Tosca gave up Angelotti’s hiding place. He is displeased. They usher him off to prison.

Tosca asks Scarpia what his price is to release Mario, which is a big mistake. Scarpia cannot resist a woman who hates him and absolutely cannot wait to get his hands on Tosca. He tells her as much. She sings “Vissi d’arte” which is quite famous and is about how she’s dedicated her life to art and love and a hell of a lot of good it’s done her.

Scarpia says, “I’m having him executed, so, uh, what do you think? You? Me?”

Tosca says “you are one seriously creepy dude so make it quick and make sure Mario and I have travel papers to Bermuda.” Scarpia tells his henchman to make it a mock execution and gives him the signal about what kind of mock he means.

Alone with Tosca, Scarpia writes the requested letter and signs it just as Tosca, seriously grossed out at the thought of him, spots a knife on his table. And kills him. You go, girl.

Tosca then scampers to find Mario in prison, where he’s already singing about how much he loves her. They sing together and she tells him she killed Scarpia. He thinks that’s totally hot. She tells him not to worry and brings him up to speed on the mock execution and the trip to Bermuda.

The guards come get Mario. He’s very brave since they’re not really going to kill him. After the firing squad has mockly executed him and gone off to breakfast, Tosca tells Mario he can get up. He doesn’t get up because they left out the mock part when they executed him.

There’s a kerfluffle as Scarpia’s minions discover she’s killed him and they come for her. Since Mario’s already dead and there’s nothing to live for, she tosses herself over the wall - either to her death or into a gorse bush. It’s hard to tell how high up they are.

and…. curtain.

*this is, sadly, a neither paid nor requested endorsement.

Photo by Cory Weaver. Courtesy of San Diego Opera

La Bohème is stupidly famous because who doesn’t like an opera about garrets and poets and coughing? It is pronounced “Lah Boe-EM” and means “Bohemia.”

Rodolfo, Colline and Marcello are friends. Rodolfo is a poet, Colline a philosopher and Marcello a painter. They are a trifecta of monetary disfunction. The opera opens on Rodolfo, burning pages of his writing to keep warm. Schaunard, their musician friend, arrives saying he’s landed work. They all go out on the town with promises from Rodolfo to join them.

Mimi arrives, saying her candle has “blown out.” Rodolfo lights her candle (not a euphemism, yet) and sends her on her way but it “blows out” again and then she “drops her key”  and there’s some groping in the dark and singing and lo and behold the next thing you know they’re in love.

They leave to go join the others and Rodolfo buys her a bonnet which she will probably have to burn later to keep warm.

At the cafe, Marcello’s ex, Musetta, arrives with her sugardaddy, Alcindoro. Musetta sends Alcindoro off on some errand and they all have a splendid time and leave him with the bill.

In act 3 Mimi confides in Marcello that she wants to leave Rodolfo because he is so horribly jealous. Shortly after, Rodolfo talks about dumping Mimi because she’s so fickle and flirty and we’re all “wha…? When was she fickle and flirty? She hasn’t done anything but cough.” This is because there was an act 2.5 and we missed it. In act 2.5, the librettist wrote a scene where Musetta introduces Mimi to a Viscount and Mimi is indeed fickle and flirty. Who can blame her? She’s broke and dying and Rodolfo is kind of whiney.  The scene didn’t make the cut and no one bothered to proofread the rest of the libretto.

Rodolfo then admits that the real reason he wants to leave Mimi is that she is sick and probably dying and he is too poor to take care of her and is probably, in fact, making her sicker with his poetry. She overhears this and rushes to Rodolfo. They decide to stay together until spring or until one of them gets a paying gig, whichever comes first.

Later, the three friends are doing whatever it is they do in their garret when Musetta rushes in and tells them Mimi is dying. They all run around like chickens, trying to help, but she dies anyway.

The end.

I hesitate to add that La Bohème was the basis for Jonathan Larson’s Rent.