The programme notes describe this work as “an enquiry into society’s tolerance of difference, and whether we are mature enough to celebrate diversity”, which is of course a fine question to pursue. It is too early in the development of this work for answers to be posed, but there is enough of interest here to suggest that a fully developed Constancy and Change would be worth seeing.

Neil Ieremia’s Another Letter from Earth, performed by 12 dancers of Black Grace, is inspired by an excerpt from Mark Twain’s ‘Letters from the Earth’, and centres around five scenarios in which death, or impending death, plays a central role. The work as a whole is backgrounded by a continuing frieze of passing figures silhouetted against colour washes and bracketed by larger-than-lifesize cut-out soldiers, and for at least the second half of the work, six of the dancers, dressed in flesh-toned underwear, lie amongst the soldiers as if dead.

The five featured scenarios are strongly contrasted, and all are episodic, interspersed with other sequences of activity. Only one has a direct connection to the battlefield scene, and overall the work lacks cohesion.

An elaborately, formally dressed mourner (cultural performer Maipihi Te Rerehau Kelland), with white face makeup, black clothing and an elaborate black headdress, carrying an urn containing long-stemmed red feathered sticks, opens proceedings with a dramatic series of sorrowing chants and deep wails and spoken phrases. She returns at particular moments throughout the work, as if to bring particular significance to some events over others, although what that significance might be is never entirely clear.

An ageing dancer (Sean MacDonald) , his once elegant, flowing movements diminished by stiffness  and lack of pliancy, continues to push himself to perform the best he can, welcoming the applause despite his aching body, doing whatever is needed to fulfil his performance commitments despite longing for release from physical discomfort. His final bows are followed by laying himself out over crumpled up sheets of paper, perhaps old letters of appreciation, reviews and clippings, or draftings of his will and letters of farewell.

An embattled couple (Shane Toefano and Demi-Jo Manolo) nag and fight and pick away at one another, exulting in moments of sensuous pleasure which come all too rarely amidst their relentless antagonism. Eventually, the death of the woman results, leaving the man deeply grieving his loss.

A socialite (Gabrielle Thomas) dressed in a glamorous gown and wearing a diamante bracelet and teardrop earrings, repeatedly wafts through the work, apparently without a care in the world.  But in due course it becomes apparent that she has recently lost a child, and is mourning that loss, desparately clutching a life-sized ragdoll to her breast.

A young man (Tupua Tigafua) plays with the larger-than-lifesize soldier cutouts, moving them about to fulfill the scenarios in his mind, alternately delighting and despairing at the outcomes only he can anticipate. He draws a large ellipse around their opening positions, marking it in black ash, perhaps suggesting gunpowder. Subsequently he repositions them outside the ellipse, and as he moves amongst them he raises his hands, or crouches as if reconnoitring the enemy’s position, or moves as if he too has a weapon fully ready for deploying. Perhaps he is mindful of the deaths of others on the battlefield, perhaps he is still puzzling over the mystery of his own survival in the face of battle, or perhaps he is beset by the living death which some former soldiers carry with them. Of all the scenarios, this seemed the most richly developed, and it was certainly engaging to watch.

While some profound point about the positive role death plays in human life may have underlaid proceedings, it never became clear what that point might be.

Our expectations are high for work presented in a major arts festival such as Auckland Festival 2016, even more so when a major commissioning process is associated with the work presented.  New Zealand work is presented alongside thoroughly developed international works on the world festival circuit, and we always hope that the New Zealand works will hold their own compared to the international imports. Works in progress, however, as the two works in Changes appear to be, have the odds stacked against them, and there is merit in the idea of presenting them in the same way as the RAW collection of developmental theatre works in this festival are, with the processes, practices and ideas which underlie these works shared with the audience as an essential part of the package.