Better to say “greatest misses,” La Cieca thinks, though even that phrase is flawed by a nearly Hollandaise level of inaccuracy. The errors and gaffes of the flannel-eared Times critic are surely too many and too egregious for one writer to anthologize; certainly they seem to have overwhelmed the Newspaper of Record’s squadrons of copy editors.

Perhaps best known for his soundtrack compositions (Taxi Driver, Citizen Kane) and his works for the theater (Major Barbara, Arms and the Man), Bernard Holland has also found time in his busy career to star in the television sitcoms Bosom Buddies and Two and a Half Men. But right now, let’s enjoy some highlights of his output as a Times critic:

Mahler belongs to the “and furthermore” school of composition. . . In Mahler’s world there is always room for one more beautiful idea. The final “Abschied,” or “Farewell,” is wrenchingly beautiful music that could legitimately (and perhaps with profit) end at one of a dozen different spots. But for him, no symmetry was worth the exclusion of one more worthwhile thought.

Violeta Urmana in the title role and Olga Borodina as Laura handsomely maintain the fiercely beautiful soprano roles that keep “La Gioconda” moving.

the Bulgarian soprano [sic] Vesselina Kasarova

People came to hear Ms. Fleming, and they did.

First prize for popularity went hands down to Giuseppe Filianoti, a tenor whose heart seemed to beat in time with Ciléa’s own. Mr.Filianoti’s lean, clear voice took every risk imaginable in his win-or-lose assault on the familiar “Lamento di Federico.” He survived admirably, causing a near-panic of enthusiasm in the audience thatwent on for minutes. [. . .inspiring Filianoti to perform an encore, though you’d never guess it from the Times]

Given the dictum “Write what you know,” it might seem odd to find Mr. Susa, an American from Pennsylvania, poking around the drawing rooms of Rococo France, but then we remember Puccini’s fond if wildly inaccurate renderings of the Wild West or, as he quaintly imagined them in “Manon Lescaut,” the deserts of Louisiana. . . .The singers were not bad at all, especially the baritone Michael Chioldi as Valmont. Sarah Heltzel had the emotional range for the part of the Marquise de Merteuil. Anna Noggle, Kristin Vogel, Lisa Chavez, Richard Furman and Yvonne Bill demonstrated sound voices in various states of development.

At the end Deborah Voigt did glorious battle with the final scene of Richard Strauss’s “Salome.” Given an orchestra taken from the pit, raised to stage level and set behind the singer, the competition was unfair. But this is a soprano of penetrating power and clarity. The moments when the orchestra overwhelmed her were perhaps those when it had more important things to say.

And now a lengthier excerpt to demonstrate Holland’s clever way of making sure he gets to bed at a reasonable hour on performance night: crib the entire “review” from old LP liner notes, then throw in a single sentence alluding vaguely to the performance:

It is hard to imagine that Jacques Offenbach wrote “Orphée aux Enfers” with future greatness in mind. There is an element of haste in this jolly hit-and-run attack on “Bulfinch’s Mythology.” Crowded, cluttered and panting with hyperactivity, the plotline of this “opéra bouffon” probably had even more zip in the mid-1850s, when it was aimed at an audience eager to avenge itself on the tedious childhood hours spent studying ancient gods and goddesses.

And there they all were at the Juilliard Opera Center’s revival on Wednesday night. I counted 11 top-shelf mythological figures onstage at the end of Act II, being made fools of and making fools of themselves in the best Parisian manner. The tragic and mysterious doings of men and gods in Hades sit lightly on Offenbach’s updates of classical sexual predation, intrigue and jealousy. We get a lot of the humor still, but I suspect that many inside jokes died with their times.

Still there is the music: beautifully made, relentlessly cheerful, reluctantly serious. Posterity has cherry-picked some of it; indeed, the dance music has become a deathless buzzword for vigorous French gaiety. Without “Tales of Hoffmann” it would be harder to recognize what a profoundly gifted composer Offenbach really was. In “Orphée” you have to scrape away the surface froth, or better yet, wait for the powerful ensemble number that begins Act IV’s revels on the River Styx. . . .

The cast is big and makes room for lots of participants, who all would be listed here if space permitted.