A powerful and stunning ‘Dear Evan Hansen’ at the Engeman
Joe Serafini stars as Evan Hansen in Dear Evan Hansen, playing through October 25 at the Engeman Theater in Northport Village. Photo credit: Katie Mollison, John W. Engeman Theater.
There are shows you enjoy. There are shows you appreciate. And then there are shows that leave you sitting in your seat for a few extra minutes after the lights come up, allowing yourself time to come back to reality
The John W. Engeman Theater’s production of Dear Evan Hansen is one of those shows.
It’s stunning, emotional, uplifting, grounding and, at times, gut-wrenching. It’s also exhausting, in the best possible way. From the opening notes of “Anybody Have a Map?” through the final moments of the show when the stage goes dark on Evan and the cast, there is very little room to look away. The story keeps moving and the music keeps building; the emotions rarely let up.
This was my first time seeing Dear Evan Hansen, and I certainly didn’t expect to connect with it as deeply as I did. I went in knowing the basic story – one of a struggling teen in an arm cast. I came out thinking about parenting, technology, loneliness, the pressure we put on ourselves and the things we wish we had said or done differently.
Like many parents today, I worry about how technology and social media are shaping my children while also remembering, with some uncomfortable clarity, what it felt like to be young, insecure and desperate to fit in. You don't have to be a parent to connect with this story, and you don't have to be a teenager. You just have to be human.
Dear Evan Hansen is about loneliness and the need to be seen. It’s about grief, guilt, friendship, family and the consequences of our choices. There are no easy heroes and villains here. People make mistakes. They hurt each other. They try to fix things. Sometimes they make them worse and sometimes, despite everything, they find a way forward.
That honesty in the storyline and characters makes the moments of hope feel earned.
Joe Serafini is remarkable as Evan Hansen. His performance goes far beyond delivering the songs beautifully, although his voice is certainly something to hear. He physically becomes Evan. His body language tells the story before he says a word. The hunched shoulders, the nervous movements, the way he makes himself smaller when anxiety takes over. As the story progresses, so does Evan. His stance changes. His face changes. He seems to grow taller, more open and more comfortable in his own skin.
It’s a subtle transformation, but Serafini makes it impossible to miss. The shift is believable and relatable.
The entire supporting cast is exceptional. The singing is powerful and, at times, almost angelic, and the acting makes the performances feel real. The characters don't simply sing to move the plot along – their relationships continue through every interaction, every glance and every movement across the stage.
Jimmy Schumacher’s Connor Murphy, in particular, has a haunting presence. Even when Connor is not physically part of a scene, his impact is tangible. Danny Meglio’s Jared Kleinman provides some much-needed comic relief, with an edgy, often inappropriate sense of humor that feels very much like today’s teen culture.
The production deserves credit for keeping the story moving without ever feeling like it’s rushing. There are no throwaway, transitional songs. No numbers that feel like they are simply filling space between plot points. “Requiem” captures the complicated, often uncomfortable emotions of grief, while “You Will Be Found” delivers the show's biggest moment of hope. The finale offers something even more valuable: not a perfect ending, but a convincing one.
The characters aren’t magically fixed. Their lives aren’t suddenly easy. But there is a sense that they will be okay.
The use of light throughout the production is particularly effective, helping signal the emotional highs and lows of the story. Screens and projections bring the show firmly into the world its characters inhabit – a world of texts, posts, notifications and a constant stream of information that can connect people just as easily as it can isolate them.
By the end, I was sobbing.
Not because the show is simply sad. It isn’t. It’s actually funny, painful, hopeful and even uncomfortable at times. It forces you to sit with the “should have” and “too late” moments that most of us carry in one form or another.
And maybe that’s why we root for Evan. We see the mistakes he makes, but we also understand why he makes them. He wants to be loved, he wants to be noticed, he wants to belong. And in his worst moments, he twists himself into something he thinks other people will accept – something most of us can understand, even if we have never gone quite as far as he does.
It isn’t a perfect story, and Evan isn’t a perfect person. That’s what makes the ending work.
Just give yourself a few minutes when the stage goes dark.
For more information about Dear Evan Hansen at the Engeman Theater and to buy tickets, click here.
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