It would take more than a fog of cigarette smoke and a glass in my hand to make Theater 80 feel like a café in Seville. But I can manage without them. The place is funky enough, and Mark London's lighting embeds the members of Noche Flamenca in darkness pierced by low-level beams. The costumes are plain. No polka-dot gowns with ruffled trains, no snugly fitting trousers and cummerbunds. We're as close to the performers as we'd be in a club; dancers toss their heads and sprays of sweat land inches... More >>>