DEAR EVAN HANSEN: A Musical that like Evan, Needs to Be Seen

High school is a time wrought with change and obstacles. It's a period in life when as much as you are trying to define who you are, there is a part of us that simply wants to belong. To be accepted, to be seen, whether it's in the hallways of school or our own homes. It's a common shared experience often deemed a rite of passage we all endure and now serves as the center premise for the new original musical Dear Evan Hansen playing at Arena Stage for the next three weeks. It's the rare experience these days to go to the theater and see an original script and score that has no source material fully realized. Dear Evan Hansen has created something intimate and moving. It's an experience, in my opinion that is not to be missed

The show's tagline: "A letter, a lie, a life he never dreamed he could have." frames the plot for the journey protagonist Evan Hansen takes in his senior year of high school. Crippled by social anxiety and longing for a place to belong is where we begin. However, it's certainly not where we land by the end of this 2 1/2 hour emotional show. The book by Steven Levenson taps into the awkward honesty and humor that almost always comes from sadness and creates a deeply moving story about the many faces isolation takes. His characters, especially the teenagers speak in ways that ring authentic to experience rather than preaching to an audience. This nuance is critical because it builds a world that moves the audience emotionally as we respond to the dichotomy that in a world that is more interconnected by the digital age, the reality often reveals that in spite of those connections we are more isolated than ever before. Viewed through the prism of a high school tragedy, the ripple effect touches everyone on stage. I was especially impressed by the attention given to the glaring truth of how parents can be just as disconnected from their children in spite of loving them, no matter the circumstance.


Evan's initial solo Waving Through a Window is an anthem for so many of us connected through technology in the hopes of being seen but crippled by the fear of rejection. In the hands of Ben Platt (Pitch Perfect) Evan's uncertainty from the opening moment of the show is palpable. His awkward endearing nature fills the stage with a sincerity as we believe he is paralyzed by fear. I believed him from the moment he sits down on that bed, physically turning his body inward on himself. Equally matched is his counterpart Zoe, the object of his affection and sister of the boy who will come to define his existence. Laura Dreyfuss carries off a tricky role with a stunning display of weighted sadness and anger she wears like a coat. Zoe straddles a world of being seen for all the wrong reasons while she navigates her own invisibility at home. Dreyfuss' voice is strong, luminous and filled with the conflicting indigence that comes from being a teenager. In Only Us the love ballad that bonds Evan and Zoe, Dreyfuss soars. This is not your typical love blossoming. Rather it is a realization by two young people that they are longing to be out of the shadows and not be defined by someone else's story. They crave the ability to carve out who they are for themselves. Once again, to simply be seen.

The show crescendos into what I would deem the most vulnerable moment of the evening when the lies Evan has told others and himself ultimately unravel and he is forced to look at what remains. Words Fail requires Platt to take his character one step off the cliff's edge he's emotionally brought the audience to so we understand the need to step out on faith and to find the self belief that one will survive. It's a gut-wrenching moment that doesn't become melodramatic because Platt has skillfully unfolded this young man, his anxiety and fears so honestly over the course of the entire show. Platt must make the audience believe in Evan as he makes a series of compounding poor decisions. We can never think that Evan is deliberate in his actions so that he maintains our sympathy. Platt excels at earning the trust of the audience with a raw inwardly directed self loathing that is never fully declared, but always on display. It's taps into anyone who's had those moments of inadequacy and feeling of being on the outside looking in to a world you can't quite reach.

Platt is surrounded by a stellar cast each of whom deliver moments of much needed comic relief to the weight of this show. And frankly, Alexis Molnar and Will Roland (Alana and Jared) do so much more than that. They represent that moment we all feel when tragedy or something profound occurs. How we actively seek to find a connection to an event in order to be a part of it in some way. It speaks to the melodramatic nature of being a teenager and seeing the world only through yourself but also to the more subtle ways we do it as adults. Connor is the catalyst for the events that unfold, the voice in Evan's head and frankly all our heads telling us we are not enough and that we don't matter in the grand scheme. Connor physically appears when you're not always expecting him to and navigates from a manifestation to nagging reminder of how voices of doubt that can drown out reason. Mike Faist has the difficult task of creating a character who must morph into that manifestation while still being the shadow that hangs over everyone in the show. He does so with well placed charm and a chameleon like approach to his scenes.

The one place I wanted more was from the parents who are impacted by Evan's actions, but perhaps that's merely because I related to their pain and sense of failure. We are given a heartbreaking performance from Michael Park as Connor's father Larry, particularly in his solo The Right Way, a song that examines the remorse he feels thinking about the parent he envisioned he'd be. Larry clearly sees Evan as a second chance, the do over that we never get as parents. Evan's mother is delivered quietly by Rachel Bae Jones, in a performance that sneaks up on you. She's the parent filled with a need to will her son to be fine, when she knows in her heart he isn't, but she doesn't have the ability to change it. Her final moment comes on the heals of Platt's Words Fail. As an audience, we are barely given a moment to take a breath when we are seized by the remorse and broken heart of a parent who fully recognizes the way she's failed her child, but utterly refuses to allow that sense of personal failure to excuse her need to be present for her child. She's vulnerable and transparent to his hurt. It's a lifeline that requires so much from Jones as she taps into how much we as parents want for our children in ways that redeem our own personal failings. It is an overwhelming moment in a thread of the story that I hope will be more interwoven into Act 1 as this production evolves and finds an eventual, deserved home in New York and hopefully Broadway.

Dear Evan Hansen's music is penned by Benj Pasek & Justin Paul, the duo who gave us Dogfight another show that introspectively looks at how we value our own self worth. Their songs reveal the truths we sometimes deny in order to survive and pose the questions we ask ourselves only in the quiet of our own thoughts. In the capable hands of Michael Greif who guided us so deftly through Twentysomething life in RENT and mental illness in Next to Normal is on point again with a show that often filters words and dialogue through third party mediums like the internet and a misinterpreted letter marvelously visualized with David Korin's set filled with moving screens that tells a story all its own.

Dear Evan Hansen is the type of work that leaves you reflective. It's a story that allows each of us to be seen through its characters and music. While the show questions the authenticity of how we connect the digital age. It clearly answers that our human need to feel, understand and connect remains constant. That feels especially true in the darkness of the theater as we applaud.