Theatre Raleigh's "Dear Evan Hansen" Weaves a Wonderful, Interconnected Web

Sometimes, a misunderstanding can give way to a convenient lie, and that lie can take on a life and trajectory all its own. This is exactly what happens to Evan Hansen, the titular adolescent character of Dear Evan Hansen, onstage now at Theatre Raleigh. While Steven Levenson’s emotional script doesn’t exactly paint Evan as blameless in his ordeal, Benji Pasek and Justin Paul’s brilliant music and lyrics add nuance and understanding to both his story and the stories of all who come to inhabit Evan’s rapidly expanding world.

In Evan’s case, the misunderstanding starts when a note he wrote to himself is mistaken as the suicide note of a classmate, Connor Murphy. The lie happens when Evan allows the grieving Murphys to accept this fallacy as truth, not realizing his choice will have spiraling consequences. Suddenly, Evan finds himself growing close to the Murphys and concocting backdated emails between himself and Connor. Add in a social media campaign and the instant communication of the modern world, and Evan finds himself in a real mess.

Interestingly, though, the beauty of this musical lies in the mess. Its farrago of imperfect characters and misguided good deeds coalesce into something surprisingly beautiful, and it all starts, fittingly, with the show’s “mothers.” Evan’s mother Heidi (Catherine Brunell) and Connor’s mother Cynthia (Jenny Latimer) begin the story by taking the audience through a morning in their lives, namely the morning of the first day of school. While a harried Heidi tries to give the socially anxious Evan a little encouragement, Cynthia has to contend with the angry Connor and his disgruntled sister Zoe (Isabella Denissen) as they take jabs at each other over breakfast. 

Under Jessica Boevers Bogart’s smart directorial hand, the two women, from two worlds that seem vastly different, stand at opposite corners of the stage and sing, unaware of the parallels between their own lives. This marks the first, but far from the last, time that Bogart will use this mirroring technique to draw lines of connection between unexpected characters. It’s a choice, made possible and more powerful by the intimate venue and Bill Webb’s careful lighting design, that serves as a unifying force throughout the show and gently guides the viewer’s interpretation and understanding of the characters.

While these moments of quieter, more subtle direction prove effective, there’s also plenty of visual chaos. Frequently, the halls of Evan’s school fill with busy, buzzing students, with their text messages and social media posts popping up on the wall as projections (Darby E. Madewell) for all to see. Even in these frenzied scenes, Bogart achieves a wonderfully seamless feel, with each character moving smoothly into place and exiting precisely. Her point—and one of the show’s main themes—comes across loud and clear: even in moments when we feel lost in the throng, there’s still symmetry and connection.

That interconnectedness is lost on Evan, at least at first. Early scenes paint the picture of a character who feels very much alone. Young Jason Thomas Clyde, in his professional debut, makes for a wonderfully awkward and arguably guileless Evan Hansen. Even if one doesn’t agree with the “guileless” part, he at least makes the character sympathetic enough that his actions are understandable. He shares a sweet, sad chemistry with his overworked but loving mother, sympathetically portrayed by Brunell, and displays a painfully evocative desire to belong to . . . something. 

Evan does have a few “friends,” kind of. There’s the scheming, delightfully perverted Jared, portrayed by a hilarious JT Snow, and the overachieving Alana, who is given a complex, nuanced inner life thanks to Alyssa Jones’ subtle but emotional performance. The person Evan really longs to be close to, however, is Zoe Murphy, and Denissen makes it easy to see why. She plays the role with a quiet, intriguing intensity, cemented by her powerful delivery of “Requiem,” a song in which she laments her inability to grieve her brother.

Evan’s at-first-unintentional scheme does bring him closer to Zoe, but also to her parents. As Cynthia, Latimer nails the perfect mix of good intentions and privilege blindness, while her husband, Larry (Will Ray) is all raw emotion. Ray arms his character with a stony demeanor, making his budding-but-tenuous connection with Evan and his “You Will Be Found” breakdown all the more compelling and painful. 

For all the hurt in Dear Evan Hansen, there is also humor and light, particularly in the hilariously choreographed “Sincerely, Me” number. While the song still has a somber core—Evan and Jared are fabricating emails—its playfulness wins out. It also gives Connor (Mitchell Treg Brown), and all the possibilities his life may have contained, a moment to shine, and “shine’ is exactly what Brown does, both here and throughout. While his moments on stage are brief, Brown runs the gamut from arm-flapping hilarity to pained brooding, giving the character a richness and dignity that is sometimes missed.

The aforementioned “Sincerely, Me” number is actually a good representation of Dear Evan Hansen as a whole. Like life, its moments are rarely ever just about one thing or one emotion. Instead, it’s a careful, honest blending of good and bad, wrong and right, and fair and unfair that proves beauty can come from imperfection and from the most unlikely of circumstances.

This production perfectly encompasses the “gray area” truth that makes Dear Evan Hansen so compelling. Its measured, balanced approach to the morally ambiguous story shows possibilities, but ultimately allows the audience to make its own judgments. The intimate staging, precise direction, and teeming-with-life performances combine to create something real, raw, and incredibly effective.

Dear Evan Hansen runs through June 21st, and due to unsurprising demand, new performances have been added. Limited tickets are available here.

-Susie Potter