FLAMENCO AT WILSHIRE EBELL : GRECO GUESTS WITH BENITEZ DANCERS

At 67, Jose Greco is no longer Jose Greco. One of the great bodies in dance--sinewy, resilient, nobly proportioned--has become top-heavy and tightly corseted, incapable of the elegant line and expressive freedom that used to define Greco as an artist.

At the Wilshire Ebell Theatre on Tuesday, there weren’t even the fleeting vestiges of greatness that marked Greco’s dancing five years ago at the Greek Theatre.

Appearing as a guest artist with the touring Maria Benitez Spanish Dance Company, Greco didn’t muster the heat of a genuine flamenco performance, but he reminded his fans of his refined footwork, polished cape (or shawl) manipulation and his remarkable concentration. Emphasizing finesse, he taught by example--though the lesson proved far from complete.

But if Greco never again lives up to his reputation he will certainly never outlive it: He is too important in the history of male dancing in America ( and Spain, of course) to be forgotten or diminished. Moreover, his current tour should serve the worthy purpose of widening the audience for Benitez--like Greco a non-Spanish flamenco artist of great individuality.

Recently reviewed at Caltech, Benitez brings enormous force and pliancy to her dancing, with her hands often twisting in the air dramatically as a virtuoso complement or embellishment to her more conventional footwork.

She broods magnificently but can become expressively predictable. For example, all her prowling, dodging, hip-rolling intensity in “Solea” ultimately grew repetitive, even oddly passive, as if she were describing a prevalent condition rather than enduring a painful experience.

The exit, however, was spectacular: Benitez reclaiming her mantilla, swirling into its folds and stalking into the wings in extreme backbend, arms spread wide. If El Greco had seen her, he’d have painted her just like that and you’d find her in the Prado as an icon of suffering, indomitable Spanish pride.

Shawl-magic, brooding and majestic pride also dominated Benitez’s glamorous “Reflexiones” solo, with her superb flexibility of back and shoulders relieving the sense of posy self-indulgence. A more earthy, mercurial Benitez danced “Alegrias” later in the evening with the sharpest changes imaginable in stance and attack, rhythm and pressure. If not exactly electric or eventful, her duets with Greco at least confirmed her star power and authority.

Except for a strangely overwrought “Viva la Jota!,” Monica Flores, Rosa Mercedes and, to a lesser extent, Rafael Torres looked expert in a number of Spanish dance idioms, with Mercedes as adept at the buoyant, balletic bolera technique as the passionate flamenco bravura of the “Jaleo” sequence.

However, Benitez and her colleagues were hampered on Tuesday by the Ebell’s normal sight line problems (you can’t sit anywhere near the stage and still see the dancers’ feet), plus overamplification of both live and taped music.

Not only did Paco Izquierdo’s technically accomplished guitar solo emerge strident if not deafening (with every percussive accent sounding dangerously ballistic), the dancers’ heel work nearly always proved inaudible. In addition, stage lighting usually favored the musicians over the dancers and the stage manager could frequently be heard calling cues--sometimes over the loudspeaker system.