During a Tonight Show interview from June 2020, Ben Platt talked about the then-rumored Dear Evan Hansen movie that people involved were growing “long in the tooth” and that making it would be a “now or never thing.” With many at Universal interested in the story, it made sense why they would want to bank on such a hot property. Alongside Hamilton, Dear Evan Hansen was one of the most recognizable and popular Broadway musicals of the late 2010s. Composers Benj Pasek and Justin Paul would be launched into go-to songwriters for several Oscar-nominated films while Platt tried his hand at being something even greater: It’s everything that a stage show could want in the modern age, so why not strike while the iron is hot?
There is something tragic about reality when assessing the outcome of director Stephen Chbosky’s take on Dear Evan Hansen (2021). On the one hand, it broke from the tradition of stage-to-screen musicals by appearing in cinemas in less than a decade (most shows wait longer in order to maintain exclusivity and interest in the stage version), marking five years since its New York run – only The Prom (2020) had a quicker turnaround at two years. It makes sense, especially given that 2020 was a year where mental health was more openly discussed, breaking down taboos around dysfunctional families, addiction, and suicide. If anything, it makes the film feel more essential, especially since many Zoom-centric telethons felt like they had “You Will Be Found” sung as some grand unifying statement of hope.
The issue is not so much that the film could be considered rushed, but that for Platt this is a gift and a curse. On the one hand, he IS Evan Hansen. Everyone would love to have a defining role that accentuated his gift for vocal dexterity, having these emotionally rich numbers like “Words Fail” bring audiences to tears nightly. Without a doubt, he is an amazing singer and it makes sense to cast him in any adaptation of this. The issue, quite honestly, is that most of the conflicts around casting him are not inherently his fault.
Sure some could argue that playing a teenager when you’re 27 is baffling, but Dear Evan Hansen is a film whose best case scenario is that it couldn’t be released any sooner. There needed to be time to establish a reputation, for Pasek & Paul’s songwriting credits to look impressive on a marquee. In the case of Platt, he needed to form a crossover appeal that promised the film (even in best cases) to actually draw in an audience. He did his part, at least getting his name out there. In the month around Dear Evan Hansen’s release, he has released his second album “Reverie,” planning a concert tour, and starred in the new Hulu on FX series from B.J. Novak called The Premise where he plays a 29-year-old. Absent of a horrendous Toronto International Film Festival opening night response, this is supposed to be seen as his moment of glory, where everyone ushers him in as a generational talent, recognizing what worked on stage is just as powerful on film.
Had this been a story about a random, ageless character, there’s a good chance that most of the criticism surrounding him would disappear. Maybe it would read as awkward to some, but complaints that he looks discordant to his closer-to-teens co-stars wouldn’t be as prevalent. This was his moment to be somebody like Mandy Patinkin. It’s a shining moment for Broadway’s worst-kept secret, and it’s a shame that he had to do an amazing job at playing a 17-year-old.
Along with a small pocket of people burned out on Pasek & Paul’s style following The Greatest Showman (2017), Dear Evan Hansen has the unfortunate job of climbing out of a hole that their legacy built. Considering that most of the fans who bought the OBCR’s haven’t seen the show, there’s pressure for Platt to deliver even when his own body works against him. Defenses point to cases like Stockard Channing in Grease (1978), herself a Broadway transplant playing a teen. Can one truly get over the limitation if the rest of the story is downright amazing, that Chbosky turned a musical with almost zero realism into the most human story of Fall 2021?
It is a gamble whose initial reception hasn’t really been rewarded, but is honestly better than the mounds of cynicism. Yes, it is true that the story centers around an anxiety-ridden teen who does some unlikeable actions. Some would argue that the use of sympathy or punishment isn’t earned. For me, the best read is one more reflective of how depression can drive people to do desperate things for validation, finding Evan befriending a dead student’s family just to feel some connection. The stage version’s minimalism allows Evan to feel more alone easier. On film, it’s similar optics but often finds him a small fish in a big pond. He walks around, wondering if anyone will notice him.
It’s a detail that is, logically, lost in translation. The whole concept of the stage version involved screens reflecting fragments that symbolize characters’ internal struggle. Characters often talk via stage lights that paint them in cell phone cases. Given that Connor is even at times a spiritual, interpretive, and malleable figure, so much of the stage version lacks a concreteness that a film would need. Even its minimal cast had to balloon by maybe 25x as many faces. This was never going to be a clean sweep and in the process makes for an interesting case that both versions are inherently different but also good reads of writer Steven Levenson’s source material.
For the film, it feels like any other project that Chbosky has worked on. Given that he gained acclaim for The Perks of Being a Wallflower (2012) and the book it was based on, there is a sense that he’ll bring an understanding to teenage angst. This is true for the most part, and it comes both at the expense of songs centered around adult characters, but also smartly fleshing out the roles of Alana (Amandla Stenberg) and Jared (Nik Doldani), allowing them to feel more central to the conflict at this high school. Alana even gets a new Pasek & Paul song with “The Anonymous Ones” that promises to recognize those who work hard to hide their sadness. It’s tender, coming at a quiet moment in the film before evolving into a reprise in the third act.
Most of the additions make sense, at least in theory. In the case of Evan, he has a regiment of medication meant to keep him stable. There are scenes where social anxiety is punctuated by him running to the bathroom, nervously opening a bottle, trying to stable his jittery nerves. While the moment feels a bit too big, it helps Chbosky to create a sense of who this character is. To talk before a crowd is difficult. The resulting pressure of the narrative relies on him being very nervous and even builds to the midpoint high notes of “You Will Be Found” that find the balloon expanding, the ensemble having moments to shine in vibrant, affirming detail.
When allowed to be a fully formed movie musical, Dear Evan Hansen is genuinely great. During the early number “Sincerely Me,” a walk down the hallway between Evan and Jared transitions smoothly into the number, sung by Connor (Colton Ryan) in a fictive version of his life. He dances through a library, recounting dialogue fed to him by the duo trying to convince others that they were friends. It has all of the pep and humor of an alternate world where these characters knew each other, having the encouraging friendship that they claim. It’s the subversive heart of every song on the soundtrack, where surface-level details hide something more complicated underneath. It’s beautiful and seeing Evan and Connor dance at a video game arcade is a delightful spin on the closing minute of the song.
That is when the story is at its best. Even in more somber numbers like “Requiem” where Connor’s family sings about his absence, the choice to place the song in a bigger, more social context has power. Zoe (Kaitlyn Dever) driving out of control as she declares that her brother was more than the monster that she knew may be cliché, but works to reflect turmoil, also nicely punctuating the song’s need to come to a stop, restarting at a slower velocity. For the most part, the supporting cast shines and makes the songs work, knowing where to fill the melody with personality.
If there’s one conflict, it comes back to Platt. When Chbosky has to make more sincere, realistic decisions around the song numbers, the action usually drags. This is especially true during “For Forever” and “If I Could Tell Her,” which are central to one location and rely on the audience being amazed by Platt’s singing. Is he great? Yes. There is a reason that his casting isn’t totally egregious. It’s just that whereas “For Forever” feels epic onstage, the almost verbatim actions on film ring a bit less impactful. This is noticeably true in the latter half where a major reveal causes Platt’s voice to climb, himself standing up from a dinner table to accentuate his investment. It still works, especially with flashbacks to Evan’s recurring moment of how he got his cast, but whereas onstage one can notice it in one long glorious take, it lacks cohesion and impressiveness. The camera has to cut around to reaction shots, conveying how much this moment means. It’s not a mistake, but another restriction of cinema.
On the other hand, one of the other conflicts with Platt reprising the role is that he’s TOO familiar with Evan. There’s a sense that he has grown bored of the version that made the OBCR recording so electric and exciting to listen to. Much like Hugh Jackman in Les Miserables (2012), he is treating Chbosky’s take as a chance to not so much emote, but play with lower registers, punctuating with small quizzical harmonies. Basically, it’s attempting to make the songs at times have more of a naturalism that distracts from the musical form. This is true in “If I Could Tell Her,” where Evan recounting Zoe’s many charms lacks the bashfulness, the sense of discovery. Even in “For Forever,” the opening half of the song feels like he’s playing with inflection too much, finding ways to alter the experience for the film.
Is it bad? Not entirely. It’s definitely a choice and one that feels self-conscious. Given that the soundtrack is being sold with various pop acts doing covers, it makes sense that this is viewed as a pop musical. Pasek & Paul have a knack for mixing big emotion with excellent melodies, and yet there are points in the film where they seem to stray from that, or specifically Platt does. Again, the OBCR sets a perfect template for how to do certain songs, so it’s interesting to notice when a song doesn’t feel comparatively marketable in the film. Some of it is just a consequence of Chbosky placing these songs within greater action, like how “Sincerely Me” now features Go-Kart racing that cuts off a comical exchange. It likely works better if one isn’t familiar with the source material, or at least less critical of songs not sounding perfectly polished.
If there’s one significant enough change that’s for the better, it’s the use of Connor throughout the film. Whereas Alana and Jared continue to be essential characters that lack a satisfying conventional arc, Connor has been given so many additional details that allow him to feel less interpretive. Whereas in the show he sometimes came across as Evan’s conscience or “Ghost Connor,” here he is reflected in details of a life he left behind. His room has a guitar, the wall punched from likely frustration. Zoe now has stories about having to give him money and Connor’s troubling experience with addiction and rehab. There is a stronger sense of character not as a figment, but as a reality.
More importantly, it helps to make the most difficult thing to translate work. Because the stage version had minimalist sets, it would be difficult to visually represent Connor in any meaningful way. He mostly existed as an interpretation of every character, recounting what they think he might’ve been like instead of who he was. With these small set moments, there’s a build-up to a third act that strays from the original. Gone is the pressure for it to be totally about Evan letting go of a lie and instead refocuses the energy on returning the narrative back to Connor himself.
This is done, albeit in a cheesy way, by having Evan reach out to others. It’s a theme that has always been in the story but hasn’t been this expertly realized before. He has finished writing letters to himself for therapy and is now redeeming his mistakes by connecting the dots, finding Connor singing the new closing number “A Little Closer“. While nowhere near as memorable as “The Anonymous Ones,” there is a sense of humanity and character to Connor that makes the ending more bittersweet. At the end of the day, it still ends with similar circumstances but done so in a way that reflects personal growth on every characters’ part.
So yes, there is still the issue that it’s a messy story, that Platt is sometimes noticeably older. In scenes where he’s lying on the ground, injured from falling out of a tree, he especially looks his age. There’s no getting around how flawed the film as a whole is, that it’s clearly the work of racing against time to make a film that satisfies the legacy. There’s no denying that in a more perfect world, this would be the moment Platt got the crossover appeal he wanted, maybe a Golden Globe nomination, and start to launch a more serious career. Instead, he’s buried under a heap of conflict, including that he’s producer Marc Platt’s son. Though honestly, this is one of the cases where nepotism doesn’t feel nearly as concerning since it feels like he’s genuinely trying to do something authentic.
Among the wider complaints that I’d have for the film is that it doesn’t often feel like it recognizes the bigger legacy of the show. Whereas most movie musicals are more restrictive of this, Dear Evan Hansen feels like a show that, at best, could do small cameos from the original cast. Maybe have Laura Dreyfuss or Mike Faist working in the school office, or have Rachel Bay Jones replace Julianne Moore as mother Heidi Hansen so that general audiences can notice the power she brings to “So Big/So Small.” Given that this whole show feels like it exists in an expansive community, so full of characters, it makes no sense that there weren’t a few cameos – especially during the “You Will Be Found” montage that could have a few winking references for fans. That, and I’m perturbed that they took out “To Break In a Glove,” though they kept the scene in so I’m happy.
At the end of the day, the conversation around Dear Evan Hansen feels greatly overblown. It’s the result of something maybe being too popular, so omnipresent that it cannot help but drive criticism. Maybe it’s Platt’s inability to fully translate to film and TV acting. Maybe it’s that La La Land (2016) and The Greatest Showman have been played nonstop for four years. Whatever it may be, the film is neither as terrible as some make it out to be nor the masterpiece that its potential success would suggest. It’s a flawed, messy show that reflects the strengths and limitations of adjusting a show like this to film. It’s even difficult to suggest that casting anyone but Platt would’ve made it better because, quite honestly, this feels totally designed like a triumphant crossover moment, where every other actor around him has movie star appeal and that they’re welcoming him into the club. It would almost seem foolish to cast anyone else – even if they arguably could pull it off more convincingly.
It is the gift and curse. When trying to release an adaptation near the height of its popularity, there were always going to be some risks. Still, it’s interesting to notice one last tragedy around Platt that feels maybe a bit preventative. Considering that other major Broadway musicals from the time had professionally shot stage versions, notably Hamilton (2020) and Come From Away (2021), it makes no sense why the show that has become a giant sensation doesn’t have some preservation. Sure there are videos of Platt performing in character several times, but not a whole recording of the show. It’s a piece of theater lost to time, possibly making audiences who never made it to New York to never fully understand just why Platt was a big deal in 2016.
That feels like a mistake. Even if a professionally shot version of the stage show comes out somewhere down the line, it’s not likely to be like seeing lightning in a bottle, of Platt coming into his own before our very eyes. It doesn’t stand the chance to be like Hamilton where a generation-defining musical can now be seen as is for decades to come. All that’s left is Chbosky’s film adaptation, itself a large deviation from the source material at times. It’s not a bad thing necessarily, as it does what it needs to tell a compelling story.
However, it feels like any attempt to make Platt more of a universal figure has been lost in translation. Even when he does incredible work, he is limited by what a film can do. Cuts can make his ability to hold wondrous harmonies seem unimpressive, a close-up pointing out his facial tics that could be distracting. For as good as the film is and likely to please a lot of fans, the question is now whether it stands any chance of being the leap that Platt thinks it should be into movie stardom, or just another chance to laugh and ask why a Near-30-Year-Old is playing a teen. It’s a moment that should be more of a celebration than it is, and it only adds to the confusing, messy prospects of this story both as a product and as a sensation. It may not be perfect, but somewhere in its shaggy head of hair and broken arm is a powerful emotion. All one has to do is stop and look.
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