All the charm that Mikolas was missing is present with Ieva from Lithiania. She’s sat on the stage to start, her voice fragile and tender. As she progresses through the song we see more of those on-screen overlays I mentioned earlier. They depict relationships and families, including children and babies, at various generational stages, in keeping with the theme of the song. In the first run they were a little clunky and could do with being faded in and out a bit more smoothly, but it does make you pay attention. Do they work? Kind of, but perhaps they need to be a little smaller or less prominent on the screen and enhance rather than distract from Ieva herself.
Ieva gets up and has a little stroll to the side of the stage, then climbs the steps to the bridge. She’s joined at the end by a handsome chap who may be her real-life husband, Marius. They share a loving look and touch noses at the end. It’s a far cry from Mikolas who’s just spent our last three minutes trying to get a sly shag out of his ex.
This has surprised me; the song is lovely, but I didn’t think this had enough to stand out. Coming after the Czech Republic is doing the world of good for herb though, and is a lovely, quiet, reflective moment that feels entirely genuine and heartfelt, in contrast to much of the bombast that can accompany a Eurovision song trying to stand out in its allotted three minutes. Lithuania certainly does that by taking the very opposite approach.