This Hollywood adaptation of the Broadway darling centered around a troubled high-schooler falls flat due to character changes, odd casting, and a less challenging tone than its source material.
★★✰✰✰
Dear Evan Hansen is a complicated play with a complicated legacy. The main character is guilty of lying and emotional manipulation, the story wrestles with mental illness, and its context shifts feel-good numbers into something altogether darker and more unsettling. However, it’s also read by many as being an uplifting tale of healing and being seen, and it is this latter reading that this film adaptation, directed by Stephen Chbosky, leans into—and ultimately suffers from.
The film follows the titular Evan Hansen (Ben Platt), a loner who struggles with anxiety and depression, as he enters his final year of high school. Evan feels abandoned by his mother who seems to constantly be working and is advised by his therapist to write letters to himself every day. One of these letters is taken by the brooding, angry-at-the-world, school enigma Connor Murphy (Colton Ryan). This letter is found on Connor after he takes his own life, leading his family to believe that it’s their son’s suicide note penned to his best friend, Evan Hansen. Evan finds himself latching on to the lie, spiralling further and further into falsehood. As he does so, he finds himself becoming part of the Murphy family, as well as becoming a viral posterboy for mental health awareness. Of course, there is only so long a lie that big can be upheld, and the film follows Evan as we constantly wait for it all to come crashing down.
The narrative has been criticised for its cruel-natured central plot, spearheaded by a sociopathic gas-lighting protagonist. However, in Evan being only 17, there is room in the story to believe that these are just the misguided actions of a confused teenager: a kid still young enough to not understand the weight of his actions. In its choice to cast Ben Platt as the lead, the film struggles to create this room. Yes, it’s true that Platt originated the role on Broadway, and does understand the character deeply after spending years in his shoes. However, you have to grow up at some point and now in his late 20s, Platt should have stepped away from the character.
Vocally, his performance is as emotionally rousing as ever, but there is no way to sit comfortably believing that this grown man is 17. The hair and make-up team do their best to de-age him, but all this does is serve to distract him even further, Platt looking eerily inhuman. That space for empathy is taken away because seeing him as a misguided teenager feels impossible. There is inherent value in having somebody who has already played the role return to it, but one of Platt’s younger successors would have been a more apt choice.
The greatest shame in Platt’s casting is that the rest of the ensemble is brilliant. Kaitlyn Dever as Zoe—Connor’s sister, and Evan’s love interest—feels nuanced, accurately capturing the layers and messiness of grieving complex, difficult people. In the parent roles, Amy Adams, Danny Pino, and Julianne Moore all do the best with what they’ve been given, evoking empathy in an authentic way. Amandla Stenberg, who also penned a new song ‘The Anonymous Ones’ for her character Alana, is great at portraying mental health issues in somebody you wouldn’t expect to have them, but her character’s change from the play was the most frustrating. The original Alana is somebody who joins the memorial activity for Connor mainly for clout, whereas the film version is considerably more sympathetic. While this is an attempt to reckon with one of the more problematic elements of the source material, it means that numbers that leave audiences unsettled and challenged on stage felt considerably less effective.
Dear Evan Hansen is a story about messy, broken, flawed people and the desperate lengths they will go to to feel loved. The film adaptation tries to sanitise these people, offering more of a redemption arc for Evan after he comes clean, but it all feels a little too late. There are certainly stand-out scenes, such as a musical number in which the imagined version of Connor sings through his emails with Evan, as Evan writes them. ‘Requiem’, the song in which the Murphys each deal with their varying processes of grief, also stood out as one of the most moving and real sequences of the film. The film also gives more agency to Connor’s character than in the play, by allowing him a new song that uses his voice rather than the words Evan says for him.
Levenson’s script may feel clunky, but there are moments of truth in it that make you feel that maybe the mess is worth it.
Unfortunately, in between songs the film feels cold and flat—especially given the lack of a score, and the reliance on diegetic sound. While I see that this is a bid for naturalism, when paired with a cold colour grading, it all just feels a bit grey. As well, in contrast to some frantic cinematography, seemingly to capture Evan’s inner turmoil. It ultimately lacks cohesion. All that being said, there is something in Pasek and Paul’s score that can’t help but move you, and I still found myself crying at least three times. Levenson’s script may feel clunky, but there are moments of truth in it that make you feel that maybe the mess is worth it.
The Verdict
Dear Evan Hansen‘s intentions are good but its execution is messy. This film had the potential to be a stirring and challenging look at how we respond to mental illness but instead becomes another ‘feel-good’ coming-of-age flick. If you’re going to spend time with Evan Hansen, go do it at the Noel Coward Theatre.
Words by Rehana Nurmahi
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