Five Ways to Fix the Dear Evan Hansen Movie (Because We Deserved Better)

by Chris Peterson, OnStage Blog Founder

Let’s get this out of the way first: I like Dear Evan Hansen. The stage musical meant something—to a lot of people. It gave shape to anxiety, to grief, to the parts of growing up we rarely talk about out loud. It was messy and honest and unafraid to sit in the gray areas. And then… we got the movie.

And the movie tried. I really believe that. The intentions were good. But somewhere between the blue polo and the digital filters, something got lost in translation. What worked so powerfully on stage felt oddly hollow on screen. Like someone remembered the lyrics but forgot the meaning.

So here are five ways we could’ve brought this story to life on film—and actually made it feel like the emotional powerhouse we all know it can be.

1. Recast Evan. And yes, I say that with love.

Ben Platt is Evan Hansen. On stage, his performance cracked hearts wide open. But on screen? He looked like a stressed-out grad student doing high school cosplay. It was distracting—and not just in a “he’s too old” way. In a “this isn’t landing the way it’s supposed to” way.

The film could’ve introduced us to someone new. Someone the right age(Andrew Barth Feldman was right there). Someone who could embody the same vulnerability without us questioning the logistics of homeroom. Platt’s performance is legendary—and it always will be—but this was a missed opportunity to let the story, not the stunt casting, take the lead.

2. Let the songs breathe.

On stage, the music is what makes this show work. It lets us in. It holds the weight of the things these characters can’t say. In the movie, the songs felt… rushed. Polished. Like someone trying to get through them without getting too emotional. That’s the opposite of what this show needs.

“Waving Through a Window” should knock the wind out of you. “For Forever” should ache. But instead, we got something that felt more like a playlist than a narrative. Give us the stillness. The awkward silences. The moments between the notes. That’s where the honesty lives.

3. Pick a tone and commit to it.

This movie didn’t know what it wanted to be. At times it felt like a very special episode of a teen drama, and at other times like a prestige indie film. The transitions between those two tones? Not smooth. And in the middle of that identity crisis, the heart of the story got lost.

The stage musical lives in its contradictions—it’s theatrical, intimate, uncomfortable, beautiful. The film tried to make everything more palatable. More clean. More likable. But this story isn’t meant to be easy. It’s meant to challenge you. The film needed to decide: do we want realism, or do we want musical honesty? And then stay there.

4. Don’t cut the emotional anchors.

Cutting “Good For You” was a choice. Cutting “Disappear” was another one. And not great ones. Those songs give voice to the other characters—the ones whose lives Evan’s lie actually touches. Without them, the movie leans too far into Evan’s perspective, without any meaningful friction.

Jared, Alana, Zoe—they all become quieter. And in doing so, the film feels flatter. The stakes feel smaller. The consequences softer. The songs aren’t just “the hits.” They’re narrative tools. You can’t just delete them and expect the story to carry the same weight. These cuts made the emotional arc feel incomplete.

5. Let Evan be flawed. Seriously.

Here’s the big one. The movie goes out of its way to make Evan more likable. More passive. Less responsible. But Evan’s not supposed to be squeaky clean. That’s what makes him interesting. He lies. He manipulates. He wants connection so badly that he crosses lines—and then doesn’t know how to undo it.

That’s not evil. That’s human. And the stage show makes space for that complexity. The film… doesn’t. It softens the edges so much that the resolution doesn’t feel earned. We don’t need Evan to be a hero. We need him to be real.

Honorable mention: Maybe rethink the lighting next time.

Everyone in this movie looks like they’ve been trapped in a Tumblr filter. And no high schooler has that much access to mood lighting unless they’re staging Rent in the cafeteria. Let teens look like teens. Let real moments look real. It doesn’t all need to glow like a Hallmark movie with feelings.

~~~

I don’t want to dunk on this movie just to dunk. I wanted to love it. I wanted it to be the version of Dear Evan Hansen I could show to someone who’s never seen the stage show and say, “This. This is why it mattered.”

But what we got played it too safe. It traded emotional honesty for clean narrative arcs. It worried about likability more than it did about truth. And in doing so, it missed what made the story resonate in the first place.

We don’t need perfect. We need storytelling that dares to be uncomfortable. That trusts the audience to sit in the messy middle. That says: you’re not alone in your worst moments.

We needed that movie. Maybe we’ll still get it one day.