A Hero with a Problem
In its early workshops at Arena Stage in Washington, D.C., Dear Evan Hansen had all the right ingredients: a heartfelt score by Benj Pasek and Justin Paul, a timely story, and a stunning lead performance. Yet, something was off. The story, as originally
conceived, was almost entirely locked inside Evan’s head. After Connor Murphy’s death, Evan’s lie spiraled, but the dramatic engine threatened to stall. The creative team, including book writer Steven Levenson, realized they had a “likeability” issue. Evan’s actions could feel alienating without a stronger internal and external force driving the narrative forward. The second act, in particular, was proving a challenge, risking a slide into a static examination of one boy’s very bad decisions.
Giving a Ghost a Voice
The solution wasn’t to soften Evan’s lie, but to give it a scene partner. The single most transformative rewrite was the expansion of Connor Murphy’s role from a tragic inciting incident into a recurring character in Evan’s mind. This “imagined Connor” wasn’t a ghost in the traditional sense; he was a projection of Evan’s own anxieties, desires, and self-loathing. Suddenly, Evan wasn't just talking to himself; he was in a dynamic, often confrontational, dialogue. This change allowed the audience inside Evan's head in a dramatically compelling way. It provided a vehicle for both humor and pathos, most notably powering the show-stopping trio, "Sincerely, Me," where Evan, Jared, and the imagined Connor craft the fake email history that forms the backbone of the lie.
The Engine of Act Two
This newly corporeal version of Connor became the show's secret weapon. While the real Connor is only seen briefly at the start of the show, Evan's idealized, and later guilt-ridden, version of him becomes a constant presence. This device did more than just liven up scenes; it externalized the central conflict. The imagined Connor could be charming when Evan needed him to be, bolstering the fantasy of their friendship. Later, he could become menacing, the personification of Evan’s conscience and the looming threat of discovery. According to those involved in the show's development, one of the biggest changes between early tryouts and the Off-Broadway run was adding a scene where this imagined Connor directly confronts Evan, forcing him to reckon with the truth. This gave the second act the dramatic velocity it had been missing.
From Character Study to Modern Morality Play
By giving Connor a voice, the writers turned Dear Evan Hansen from a passive character study into an active moral drama. The lie became more than just a lie; it became a relationship. The audience could now see the appeal of the fantasy Evan was building, even as they watched it spiral out of control. It made Evan’s choices more understandable, if not entirely forgivable. He wasn't just a boy telling a lie; he was a boy collaborating with a ghost of his own making, trying to find his way out of loneliness. This shift is what allowed the musical to tap into its deeper themes of memory, identity, and the narratives we construct for ourselves and others. It ensured the character of Connor Murphy wouldn't just disappear after his death, fulfilling the musical's own promise that “no one deserves to be forgotten.”
