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Arts Review: Acting Excellence, Plot Shortfalls Mark ‘Evan Hansen’ at Penn State

The cast of the 2024-25 national tour of “Dear Evan Hansen,” which stopped at Penn State’s Eisenhower Auditorium on Thursday, March 27. Photo by Evan Zimmerman for MurphyMade

Adam Smeltz

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Updated 5:19 p.m. March 28.

Evan Hansen lies.

The high school senior lies to his classmates, his friends, his mother, even dream girl Zoe Murphy.

Before long, his lies rocket across the internet, propelled by social media and internalized by peers forever tapping their screens.

But for as much as “Dear Evan Hansen” is said to light up our hyperconnected zeitgeist, the Tony Award-winning musical drop-kicks audiences more into age-old questions:

When is it OK to wring the truth inside-out? And do the ends ever justify deceit?

The show writers come up short — way short — on what should be easier answers. That’s too bad for the near-capacity audience Thursday night at Penn State’s 2,500-seat Eisenhower Auditorium.

Of course, the shortcomings are no fault of the exceptional cast with the Crossroads Live production company, which visited University Park — for one night only — as part of a 30-week national outing. Based on the original Broadway production that premiered in 2016, this touring version began last September in San Antonio, Texas.

Understudy Blake Ehrlichman, a Marymount Manhattan College graduate, makes a convincing Evan: neurotic, hormonal, isolated, troubled. Co-stars including understudy Julianna Braga (Zoe Murphy), Bre Cade (Heidi Hansen) and Alex Pharo (Connor Murphy) likewise work with precision and can’t-look-away presence.

Paired with live instrumentals, their acting and vocals well justified the price of entry, just north of $80 apiece for the general public in non-nosebleeds. Two sign-language interpreters more than earned their keep, too: Their expressive translations near the main stage were often as engaging as the primary action.

Importantly, the musical draws direct attention to teen suicide and mental health at large. Evan’s steady descent into deception begins after Zoe’s brother, Connor Murphy, claims his own life. In haphazard-feeling asides, the production also reflects on the pressures of single parenting and general dysfunction of the American family. “So Big/So Small,” a song about motherhood performed solo by Cade, dampened more than a few eyes.

The cross-generational audience was rapt; its final ovation, standing — a positive conclusion for the Penn State Center for the Performing Arts, which is rebuilding its audiences for Broadway tours after the COVID-19 pandemic. The tours typically draw people from a 60-mile radius around University Park, CPA Marketing and Communications Director Laura Sullivan said.

Still, not even Broadway’s best performers could gloss over glaring deficiencies in the “Dear Evan” storyline, based on a book by Steven Levenson. Benj Pasek and Justin Paul developed the music and lyrics.

After Connor dies by suicide, Evan lets the Murphy family believe the two were close friends. The lie takes flight and snowballs, helping Evan win over Zoe and become popular at school and online.

Evan’s ever-more-elaborate falsehoods comfort Connor and Zoe’s parents and reel in virtual crowds. Evan even fakes a suicide note from Connor that goes public without Evan’s blessing. (Social media are more a bit player than a driving force in the story, despite frequent visual and audio cues. Evan’s basic deceit easily could have caught fire in a pre-internet age, perhaps at a slower gallop.)

Finally — inevitably — truth emerges. Evan and Connor were never tight. Zoe turns from Evan, whose star recedes. He loses control of his own narrative. He reforms. He reflects on the power of being himself.

Here’s the real kicker: Zoe eventually tells Evan that his make-believe “saved my parents” amid their grief. Even in the wreckage of his trickery, “Dear Evan” seems to imply a lie can foster durable good.

Sure, life can be complicated. Sometimes it’s shades of gray. Judge not and all that.

But facts aren’t fungible. Even in raw moments, people should have the dignity of truth — or at least the absence of fiction. In the end, who benefits from a spoon-fed diet of fabrications?

Not Evan Hansen — and not any of us.

This story has been corrected to reflect that two understudies appeared in key roles Thursday at Eisenhower Auditorium.

Adam Smeltz is a StateCollege.com contributor. Reach him at asmeltz@gmail.com.