23 Sep REVIEW – ‘Dear Evan Hansen’ is a misguided misfire that will leave you cringing in your seat

We’ve all likely been in a situation where one little white lie becomes a series of untruths that soon spiral completely out of control. But those lies have likely never involved pretending to be the best friend of a relative stranger who died by suicide. Yes, that’s the basic ghastly plot of the movie musical Dear Evan Hansen. Yes, this is also the plot of the Broadway musical sensation that won six Tony Awards at the 2017 ceremony hosted by Kevin Spacey. And, just like hearing Spacey’s name, this misguided misfire will leave you cringing in your seat.

While Dear Evan Hansen is a film clearly crafted with the very best of intentions, the end result is surprisingly hollow for a film overflowing with desperate melodrama and wrought emotions. It’s a classic example of why some successful Broadway musicals should remain on the stage. It simply doesn’t work as a piece of cinema. And this is coming from someone who adores the movie musical genre and has firsthand experience with many of the topics this film is bumblingly attempted to tackle. If anyone should have loved Dear Evan Hansen, it should have been me.

And yet I am totally confounded by its very existence. The narrative is ghoulish and uncomfortable. Its portrayal of mental illness is soulless and disingenuous. The much-publicised casting of 27-year-old Ben Platt as a teenager is rarely anything but distracting. The entire ensemble cast is completely underused. Practically every emotional beat falls flat. Nothing here works and it’s possibly the most disappointing film of the year.

Platt plays the titular Evan Hansen, a lonely, insecure high school senior suffering from crippling anxiety and depression. Sporting a cast on his broken arm that no one at school will sign, Evan avoids social interaction at every turn. At the insistence of his hardworking mother, Heidi (Julianne Moore), Evan is undergoing therapy which comes with a series of medications to battle his mental illnesses.

In a bid to find the positives in life, Evan’s therapist has tasked him with writing pep talk letters to himself. While writing his daily letter in the school computer lab, Evan’s note is intercepted by Connor Murphy (Colton Ryan), a fellow school outcast with emotional issues of his own. While the pair initially appear to bond, Connor soon notices Evan’s letter mentions his sister, Zoe (Kaitlyn Dever) and storms off with it in his possession.

When Evan is summoned to the principal’s office a few days later, he’s stunned to learn Connor has taken his life. To complicate matters, Connor’s mother Cynthia (Amy Adams) and stepfather, Larry (Danny Pino) have discovered Evan’s letter in their son’s room and misinterpret it as a suicide note addressed to Connor’s apparent only friend they weren’t even aware existed. Unable to tell Connor’s grieving parents the truth, Evan spouts out a little white lie that will quickly become a web of deception he seemingly has no choice but to maintain.

There has been much made of Platt reprising his Tony-winning performance when he’s clearly aged well beyond the point of believably looking like a 17-year-old. If only that were this film’s only problem. Many (including Platt) argue he originated the role and should be the only one to bring it to the big screen. Frankly, that’s utter nonsense. Tell that to original Broadway stars who weren’t given the same treatment like Patti Lupone (Evita), Carol Channing (Hello Dolly), Julie Andrews (My Fair Lady), or Marissa Jaret Winokur (Hairspray). If Platt feels some ownership over this role, that’s fine. But it’s not a valid reason to cast him in the movie adaptation. Nor is nepotism. If you know, you know.

Platt is not the first actor in their late 20s to play a teenager in a film. And he certainly won’t be the last. But those who have taken on such a task only succeed by still conveying the very essence and persona of a teenager that doesn’t match their actual age. Heck, actors like Jennifer Garner (13 Going on 30), Jamie Lee Curtis (Freaky Friday), and Vince Vaughn (Freaky) were able to convincingly play teenager’s trapped inside an adult body. That’s not physical. It’s emotional. And it’s something Platt doesn’t seem to understand, leaving his performance to feel completely inauthentic.

The filmmakers have tried their best to mask his age with strange prosthetics and pounds of makeup, but it’s not just Platt’s physical appearance that breaks the illusion of watching a high school senior on-screen. Platt doesn’t appear to have adjusted his performance from the stage to the screen, meaning the exaggerated mannerisms and tics that were necessary for a theatre audience simply don’t work on film. Platt isn’t acting. He’s performing, and there’s a huge difference.

Maybe that’s the problem with hiring someone who’s performed a role on stage a few hundred times. When bringing that character to the screen, they’re going to struggle to leave behind the theatre sensibilities that are intrinsically part of their performance. It doesn’t help Platt’s attempts at conveying someone with social anxiety are so cartoonish and over-the-top that you quickly realise he has no idea how socially awkward people behave in real-world situations. It’s odd because he was so deft at creating an adorkable outcast in Pitch Perfect, yet none of that charm flows into this character.

To be fair, that’s not entirely Platt’s fault. Evan is one of the most genuinely unlikable protagonists you could ever find. I’ve seen people run around in circles attempting to defend Evan’s unscrupulous behaviour as just that of a foolish, scared teenager or a byproduct of his mental illnesses. Neither of those arguments holds much weight and it’s borderline offensive to anyone suffering from mental health issues to suggest cruel, callous actions are the result of conditions like depression and anxiety. Nor is it acceptable to exploit mental illness in such a haphazard fashion.

Regardless of Evan’s state of mind, he knows what he’s doing is wrong. At any moment, he could confess the truth and put a stop to this runaway train of lies. But he continually doubles down and makes it ten times worse with fake emails and fictional stories that lead Connor’s parents to essentially adopt Evan as their replacement son and Zoe to begin falling in love with him. Maybe such a problematic premise works on stage because there’s a lack of immediate intimacy. But there’s nowhere to hide in the medium of film and Evan’s detestable actions ultimately paint him as more of a gaslighting sociopath than a sympathetic protagonist.

The one voice of reason in all this chaos is Moore’s Heidi, who desperately wants the best for her son but can’t help but begin to see through the cracks of her son’s lies. Of course, that leads to Evan verbally abusing his beleaguered mother and viciously blaming her for all his problems. It’s really at this point Evan arrives at the moment his character becomes completely irredeemable, no matter how hard Platt and director Stephen Chbosky attempt to win you back to his favour.

Chbosky and screenwriter Steven Levenson try so damn hard to manipulate their audience into feeling sympathy for a character completely unworthy of our empathy. Yes, Evan has a troubled life. Yes, he suffers mental health problems no one would wish on their worst enemy. And, yes, he’s a loner who yearns to be seen and loved. But compulsively lying and reaping the benefits of said lies is a downright egregious way to change your life, especially when this film ultimately doesn’t deliver any true repercussions for Evan’s despicable actions. He is not a character worthy of redemption, but this gooey musical is blindly determined to hand it to him.

Platt’s questionable performance is occasionally redeemed by his soaring vocal ability, but he consistently undermines every number with his penchant for instilling Evan with a series of tics and jitters whenever he’s singing. The film features ten original songs composed by GOT (Grammy, Oscar, and Tony) winners Benj Pasek and Justin Paul that mostly exist as a showcase for Platt to shine. The stirring “You Will Be Found” is the film’s highlight, but Chbosky’s baffling staging of the number (did we really need a photo montage of Connor constructed of images of people singing on social media?) robs the song of its potential emotional impact.

Movie musicals always require some suspension of belief when people randomly break into song, but Chbosky’s blunt construction of these numbers fails to allow them to flow organically into the narrative. Most of the songs seem to materialise from practically nowhere without any genuine setup as to why a musical number is even necessary at that very moment. There’s also a noticeable lack of production flair or any individual style to the musical performances. Not every movie musical has to be a big, flashy extravaganza, but everything here is so decidedly beige and bland. It’s perhaps the whitest movie musical ever made.

Chbosky makes little use of a terrific ensemble cast of veterans and newcomers. Adams and Moore both deserve better than generic mother roles with such little depth. Unsurprisingly, they make the most of what they’re given, but even they can’t save this film from itself. The endlessly talented Dever shows her impressive vocal chops for the first time and continually steals focus with the vulnerable Zoey. Amandla Stenberg is also a highlight as Alanna, a fellow student whose endless selflessness is juxtaposed against Evan’s egocentric actions. Zoey and Alanna are both far more interesting characters than Evan. If only the screenplay knew it.

After the darkness of the last 18 months, films centred on mental health challenges are more important than ever. That’s why it’s so genuinely frustrating to see a film like Dear Evan Hansen exploit, manipulate, and bastardise such relevant issues with a narrative that’s as deep as a puddle and a vile protagonist who does little more than elicit contempt than empathy. With the subtlety of a sledgehammer, it’s a film that desperately attempts to emotionally manipulate its audience with its mawkish, superficial message that ultimately gets completely lost along the way.

Its depiction of deception by virtue of mental illness is wildly irresponsible to the point you have to question how this musical was ever successful on stage. Dear Evan Hansen drowns in self-congratulation by thinking it’s making a pertinent statement worthy of applause, but without any clue how to do so with any semblance of authenticity or integrity. It’s a film that’s seemingly unaware of its obvious shallowness. It wants you to cheer for everything it’s presenting, yet offers absolutely nothing to earn it.