Leaving the cinema after watching the film adaptation of Dear Evan Hansen, a very opinionated young man in front of me (approximately 14-years-old) exclaimed “I was with it until Evan sang at Connor’s memorial, then I was like “Wrap it up.” I couldn’t help but sympathize. He was right. Generally, the plot sustains its thrust until this point, then it begins to meander, then blows apart. But this was always a problem for this earnest musical that tries hard to encapsulate the experiences of those who deal with depression and anxiety: a bonkers crazy plot that taxes our willing suspension of disbelief at every turn. However, as I left the movie theatre with that young man’s words replaying in my ears, I also couldn’t help but think, “That was nowhere near as bad as what the critics have been saying.”
That’s not to say it is a game-changing film or anything near perfection…