A Review of Dear Evan Hansen by Nick Olszyk
Distribution Service: Theatrical
Year: 2021
MPAA Rating, PG-13
USCCB Rating, A-III
Reel Rating, Two Reels
There
have been musicals about everything under sun including the Revolution of 1848
(Les Misérables), American cheerleading (Bring It On: The Musical),
the doldrums of corporate life (How to Succeed in Business Without Really
Trying), and a biography of hermit nun Wendy Beckett (Postcards from God).
Yet there are some subjects that could do without the Rogers and Hammerstein
treatment, and Dear Evan Hansen has two of them: teenage suicide and
social media angst. There’s plenty of good intentions and even skill involved,
but the film is bogged down by a mediocre narrative, worse songs, and a theme
that could be toxic to a select few – not exactly what the world needs right
now.
Evan
Hansen (Ben Platt) is having a bad week. He recently broke his arm and is now
starting a new high school. He has an unnamed mental ailment and, following his
therapist’s advice, writes letters to himself to put a positive spin on the
day. Connor (Colton Ryan), a bully from school, steals one of his letters and
the next day Evan is confronted by Connor’s family. The night prior Connor
killed himself, and Evan’s letter was found on his person. His family assumed that
Evan was Connor’s friend since he “wrote” to him as his last act on Earth. At
first, Evan attempts to correct them, but, sensing their sadness, decides to
pretend they did have a friendship. Evan spins an elaborate fantasy about
Connor as a wonderful person who was acting out of fear and frustration. Lie
builds upon lie until Evan is leading a metal health charity in Connor’s name and
dating his sister under false pretenses. Of course, the truth will come out,
and the audience waits uncomfortably for the inevitable.
The
center of Evan’s predicament isn’t so much Connor’s suicide but the intense
necessity of creating positive meaning from his action. Connor must be
misunderstood. His violence had to be a cry for help. Only once, in a
fit of total frustration, is someone completely honest. “I’m glad he’s gone,”
Zoe admits. “He was really mean.” Yet her grief is quickly dismissed, and the
masses are drawn to Evan’s elaborate ruse. Instead, Connor is instantly canonized.
No one prays for his soul or doubts his eternal salvation. It’s hard to fault the
film as even Catholics succumb to this temptation. Long gone are the days when suicide
was considered an irredeemable sin. Yet it must be admitted, however compromised
his faculties, Connor’s last act was one of grave matter. If you want a beautiful
reflection on hope for those who die this way, I recommend a homily by
Fr. Don LaCuesta, a masterpiece on God’s mercy so good that his archbishop suspended
him. It is right to celebrate the good in Connor’s life and pray for
God to forgive him. These two things are not mutually exclusive.
The
film does a better job handling Evan’s “noble lie.” It would have been easy to
continue the fabrication in the name of some vague utilitarian good. Fortunately,
when the lie is uncovered, Evan fully admits and apologizes for his failing. At
no point, did he actively or maliciously promote this fiction for his own benefit,
yet it ultimately has the result of hurting everyone around him. Real healing
comes when Evan tacks down lost footage of Connor playing guitar at a therapy
meeting, a confirmation of his talent and dignity. Only the “truth will set you
free.”
Another
egregious error is faith in social media with little regard for its enormous
dangers. Every teenager at Evan’s school lives at least half their lives online
with more Facebook friends than real ones. Nearly every interaction between the
characters is somehow mediated through technology, whether hushed remarks through
a cell phone or confessions on YouTube. All of this is a prism that distorts
reality and becomes the catalyst for further harm when Evan’s lie goes viral. Yet
when the truth is exposed, the backlash is minimal, and Evan gets out of the digital
web unscathed. He is among the lucky few.
It
must be said that as a graduate of American schooling and teacher well into my
second decade, Dear Evan Hansen (and most high school film) commit the
same boring cliques rather than present a realistic slice of teenage life. Every
student is either a saintly misfit or forgone bully. The president of the
student body herself is on Xanax. Oddly enough, kids are doing just fine. Even
in 2021, most students are neither sexually active nor using drugs. Adolescence
is difficult but survivable. It’s not glamorous, but it would be refreshing
just once to show a well-adjusted teen worrying about her SATs, going to prom
with her respectable boyfriend, and attending church on Sunday. Trust me, I
know hundreds.
Despite
an occasional bright spot, Dear Evan Hansen is dull and vapid with a
lackluster soundtrack and terrific actors trying desperately to prop up a
failing narrative. Just prior to writing this review, I had the opportunity to
speak with director Steven Chbosky. He was kind, gracious, and intelligent. I
have no doubt he, and the entire crew, really believed in the value of this
project. His body of work, especially Wonder, is filled deep Christian
dignity in a way rarely rivaled since Capra and Ford. Despite my personal disappointment,
this picture not a bad work that undervalues its characters; it is just so
eager to be relevant that it loses nearly all its potency.
Depression,
anxiety, and all other mental illnesses are real problems, and medical
interventions are often necessary. Yet nothing on this Earth can even come
close to salvation of Jesus Christ, who conquered death itself. He gives
meaning when the world offers none. You truly are “never alone,” because He is
with you. He gave up his life for you, not as collective but an individual. No
human can be your end, much less your Twitter followers. Christ is your best
hope.
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