Upstairs in the Italian Village is The Village, with its charming interpretation of alfresco dining in a small Italian town, complete with a midnight-blue ceiling, twinkling "stars," and banquettes tucked into private, cavelike little rooms. It's the kind of pan-Chicago place where you might see one man in a tux and another in shorts. The massive menu includes some time-warp appetizers (oysters Rockefeller, shrimp de jonghe) and all the old-time, hearty southern Italian standards. This is old-school Italian: eggplant parmigiana, a heavy spaghetti alla carbonara that would send your cardiologist into fits, veal scaloppine, and even calves' liver. The food is good rather than great, but what sets The Village apart is the bordering-on-corny faux-Italian atmosphere. The service, too, is outstanding, from the Italian maitre d' who flirts with all the ladies, to the ancient waiters who manage somehow to keep up with the nonstop flow. The staff are pros at handling pretheater dining.