Well, this is an emotional hurricane.
The Broadway production of Dear Evan Hansen won six of its nine Tony Award nominations, including Best Musical, in many cases edging out Come From Away (which was Broadway robbery, in my humble opinion, but that’s a separate conversation).
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| Although circumstances have brought him closer to the girl he has long adored from afar, Evan (Ben Platt) knows that his blossoming relationship with Zoe (Kaitlyn Dever) is built upon a lie. |
That said, the story also veers dangerously close to the ragged edge of unpardonable behavior … and whether matters slide off that cliff, will depend on the individual viewer.
Playwright Steven Levenson, one of the Tony winners, has transformed his own book into this screenplay; Broadway star Ben Platt, also a Tony winner, reprises his lead role here. Ergo, there’s no question of fidelity … although I note the addition of two new songs by Benj Pasek and Justin Paul (again, Tony winners), one of which — along with some, ah, adjustments by Levenson — definitely softens the harshness of the finale.
But it’s still painfully brutal.
Evan is a traditional musical, with distinct songs that enhance (or interrupt) a conventional storyline. That makes it a bit retro in this post-Les Misérables and Hamilton era, with most musicals relying more heavily on rap and operetta stagings. This softer, gentler approach is absolutely right for Evan, given its focus on vulnerability and fragility.
Director Stephen Chbosky echoes this choice. Most of the songs are poignant ballads, and you’ll find no opulent production numbers here; the introductory montage is as fancy as matters get.
High school senior Evan Hansen (Platt) has long suffered from social anxiety; he feels isolated, forever on the outside looking in (“Waving Through a Window”). One arm is in a cast — the reason for this injury, tellingly, remains undisclosed — and nobody is willing to sign it: not even his sole friend, Jared (Nik Dodani, channeling his near-identical role in Netflix’s Atypical).
Evan writes motivational letters to himself, as a means of bucking up his optimism about what might be good about each day. Such hopes do not include an unfortunate encounter with the volatile Connor Murphy (Colton Ryan) — also a loner, but angry and aggressive — who shoves Evan in the school hallway. Connor’s younger sister Zoe (Kaitlyn Dever) apologizes for this, which makes it worse, because Evan has long crushed on her.
To Evan’s surprise, a bit later, Connor grudgingly offers to sign the cast: an awkward reconciliation gesture. Unfortunately, he subsequently snatches one of Evan’s letters, draws several wrong conclusions, and storms off in a huff. Still clutching the letter.
A few days later, Connor kills himself.
The letter is found in his possession, and — because of the way Evan addresses all his letters — Connor’s mother Cynthia (Amy Adams), stepfather Larry (Danny Pino) and Zoe, assume that Connor wrote the letter to Evan. (Its ambiguous contents don’t contradict this notion.)
This brings them great comfort, because — as it turns out — they’d long worried over the fact that Connor had no friends. Indeed, his erratic mood swings and rages have been driving the Murphys apart.
Not wanting to further hurt the grieving family, Evan accepts the assumption. As the days pass, he spins an ever more elaborate saga of a friendship that never existed. He even gets Jared to help create a string of fake, back-dated email chats between himself and Connor: a very funny montage sequence, backed by a clever song (“Sincerely, Me”).
Evan cherishes the degree to which he subsequently is embraced by the Murphys, and not merely because of his now-close proximity to Zoe. He has long chafed over the frequent absences of his own mother, Heidi (Julianne Moore), a single mom and nurse’s aide who often works double shifts to make ends meet.
But the charade soon spirals beyond Evan’s control, particularly when an energetic classmate (Amandla Stenberg, as Alana) helps mount “The Connor Project,” to keep his memory alive.
We wonder where all this will lead.
Nowhere good, that’s for sure.
Platt is note-perfect as Evan, who radiates shy awkwardness, misery and desperation. He’s morose but not pathetic, and Platt’s delivery of the initial ballads — which help define Evan’s character — is deeply touching. Later, as he’s welcomed by the Murphys, Platt’s bearing becomes heartbreakingly eager, like a lost puppy having found a home. The story puts Evan through an impressive range of emotions and behavior, and Platt is never less than wholly persuasive.
Moore doesn’t have many scenes, but she nails them just as effectively; she also puts heart and soul into her solo song — “So Big/So Small” — which reflects Heidi’s struggle to connect with Evan, and her need to remind him that she’ll always believe in him. Touching as this scene is, Moore’s finest moment comes when Heidi joins Evan for dinner with the Murphys, and is hit by an uncomfortable surprise.
Her awkward embarrassment is beyond painful.
Dever deftly handles a similarly formidable challenge, given that Zoe — as introduced — also is secretly miserable: initially worrying over her family’s instability, and then mourning the loss of her brother. But she’s not one to wear her emotions on her sleeve; Dever reveals it solely in her doleful gaze. It soon softens, as Zoe realizes that she and Evan are drawing closer due to something beyond their connection with Connor.
Their subsequent duet, “Only Us,” is achingly sweet. And tragic, because Evan knows this house of cards has been built on a lie.
Adams is similarly solid as the grieving mother who seizes the lifeline represented by Evan’s letter. She’s equally poignant with her shared song — “Requiem” — wherein Cynthia, Larry and Zoe attempt to process Connor’s suicide.
Chbosky hasn’t “opened up” the play very much; most of the action takes place at school, or in the Hansen and Murphy homes. But this never feels stage-y; there’s really no reason to go much farther afield.
Dear Evan Hansen is both unsettling and powerfully poignant. We get increasingly nervous, waiting for the ax to fall; at the same time, there’s no denying the emotional intensity of the songs, and the sincerity with which they’re delivered.
I’m not sure it qualifies as a “happy” film, but it’s certainly memorable.
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