Okay. Flamenco is anything but demure. And, here, in The Land Of, they definitely have some feria dresses that are so over the top for North American eyes, one might be tempted to call them borderline cheesy. Or without the borderline, in some cases.
But last night's show... Now that's CHEESE. Like that. Italics and capitals. It was the kind of "flamenco" you'd probably see at a Vegas show, prompting well-meaning North American talk of "flamingo dancing." I'm not saying the quality of the dancing was terrible. I'm sure those folks have spent hours and hours working on their... dancing (I wouldn't call it "art." Not the way it was presented).
Carolyn actually didn't mind one of the guys' dancing. I, on the other hand, did not like a single bit of the whole show. Well, maybe the colour of the mantones was alright. But other than that. I was mostly bored, and when I wasn't, it was because I was trying to keep from laughing because of the smell of well-aged Gruyere wafting to my seat.
I wish I could have snapped a contraband photo of the last outfit those poor dancers had to wear... The tiered skirts with each tier in a different bright colour were fine--showy and loud and flamencoey. But then. The poor girls were wearing little tight vests open just above the waist showing (no joke) the dancers' black bras. Then, white, fluffy mock sleeves protruding from the "vests."
Oh, I neglected to say this company is run by two men... Big shock, huh?
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