Emio Greco makes you shiver. He does a lot of shivering himself. He's strange. He dances yet doesn't dance at all. He quakes. He levitates. Sometimes he spins like a Catherine wheel, his arms becoming a rocket-red blur. And sometimes he stretches over the floor with purpose, then stops suddenly and stares at the front row with beady black eyes. He's a disconcerting character who inspires a raft of people to clap their hands raw, but leaves others bewildered, blinking in their seats.

The Italian-born performer, now based in Amsterdam, appeared at the international festival with Double Points: One and Two, both made with collaborator and theatre director Pieter C Scholten. Double Point: One begins with a bang, jolting you out of your seat. Then Greco appears, Christ-like, far back on an empty stage. A double row of lights flickers, marking a path. Greco is inexorably pulled along. Wearing his signature silken garment, which sticks to his body like skin, he transforms himself from liquid to solid, even into light. An isolated twitch of a limb focuses on a thought, a sudden flick removes it. You wonder what's going on, but what really matters is how you feel, whether Greco gets under your skin. He's difficult to resist here as he unravels to Ravel's Bolero, concluding in a bombardment of fireworks.

For Double Point: Two he is joined by Bertha Bermudez Pascual. They fill the Playhouse with drippingly muscular movement. They spray sweat in sheets. They touch toes tenderly, but then seem like strangers. Sometimes they dance as one, mirroring exactly, sometimes they move apart, lost. They dance in the undercurrents of a relationship. This is difficult territory - it was brave of the festival to take us so far from safety.