Problematic fave Franco Zeffirelli’s production of Turandot has been in repertory at the Met Opera on and off for nearly four decades, well after most of the Western world in theatre, cinema, and other arts had decided that race play — both literally and in a broader aesthetic sense — was gauche. Springing partly from a melody Puccini found in a music box from the late 19th century, according to the New York Times’ Zachary Woolfe, Giacomo Puccini’s Turandot premiered in Italy at La Scala in Milan in 1926, its score completed posthumously by Franco Alfano. The show transports the fairy tale of a strong-willed princess and the treacherous tasks she sends her suitor to complete, codified in Carlo Gozzi’s 18th century play of the same name, borrowed from an allegedly Persian myth (found in Les Mille et un jours) and subsequently adapted by Frederich Schiller in 1801 (which served as Puccini’s jumping off point). So: from the world of Commedia dell’arte to the Romantic style, and from Italy to a (very) imaginary Peking. While all other suitors have failed, leading to the Princess’s demands for their execution, Prince Calaf’s love for Princess Turandot transcends the many challenges before him: her iciness and guillotine-happy glare, her three tests for him, and the bloodlust of the crowd. True as ever, audiences love a bit of danger.