Oh Behave!

Having one eye on the latest pretentious jargon, I frequently us the phrase "performance community". It doesn't mean much, most of the time: artists are frequently individualists, who don't integrate into simple groupings, and even my desperate attempts to generate a binding anger by offering ill-mannered opinion hasn't led to the sudden emergence of a monolithic community. Yet through the Behaviour Festival at The Arches, something like a social scene is arising. Not only have I been kissed twice during shows - which means I have had more intimate experiences on the stage than off it  - I found myself loitering at the dregs of a wedding reception, being offered cake by a maternal charmer and invited into the dressing room of a bearded fan dancer.

In only its second year, Behaviour is more cohesive than most programmes: not only do promoters, performers and audience mingle in the bar, The Arches' staff have a genuine enthusiasm for the events. There is a continuity in approach and themes of the individual shows: even the technologically sophisticated John Moran and His Neighbour Saori... In Thailand is seeringly honest and personal, and the influence of the RSAMD's Contemporary Performance Practice course is evident in both Platform 18 award winnners. There isn't the same visceral assault of the National Review, or the nostalgia for the avant-garde of the past that sometimes overwhelms modern festivals. Instead, there is work that is personal, sincere and gentle, while exploring radical theatrical strategies.

Ironically, it is possible to criticise the shows for similar trends: emotional manipulation is common, as sympathy between audience and performer is often conjured through sentimentality and then not applied to any greater point. Difficult questions are often given a body-swerve, in favour of simple togetherness and complacent conclusions. Fortunately, there is Mayfesto for politics, and any amount of contemporary dance, should I require something more bracing.

Adrian Howells is a veteran of intimate, small scale performance. Last night, I managed to get the last dance with him, in a moment that probably embodied the awkward tango between critic and artist. Howells is a master at the one-on-one: he manages to capture the wedding reception atmosphere through lights and balloons, leaving the audience to chat and remember past receptions in an hour of fleeting romance and hopeful conversation. Having already listened to Annette Foster whisper into my ear about liminal spaces, and seen Beady Eye recall the ghost of a cross-dressing, Olympian father, I was seduced by an evening that had abandoned any idea of the fourth wall.

Behaviour is all about the personal: the impact softly slides from the performances into the audience, encouraging conversation and calm debate. It's my usual cliche to say that a festival is more than the sum of the individual shows, but this year sees that stupid phrase "performance community" mean something more than random characters who turn up in certain places at certain times.