The Internet Age on Stage: 'Dear Evan Hansen' at Engeman Theater Reviewed
Joe Serafini and cast shine in this emotionally stunning non-replica production, now Running Through October 25 at the John W. Engeman Theater in Northport
Seated inside the Engeman Theater with my playbill, absorbed by the glow of Kyle Dixon’s scenic design and the hush of anticipation.
Last night, I attended the first preview of Dear Evan Hansen at the John W. Engeman Theater in Northport — and Long Island theatergoers should take note: this production is not a simple community-theater reproduction of the Broadway hit. From the moment the house lights dimmed, it was clear this was an entirely reimagined staging, built from the ground up with a distinct visual and emotional vocabulary. I wore the iconic polo; I was not emotionally prepared for how the script by Steven Levenson and the memorable songs of Benj Pasek and Justin Paul would be interpreted.
Designer Kyle Dixon’s approach to the set is the first thing that announces Northport’s ambition. Suspended above the stage is a cluster of floating rectangles — a constellation of canvases that move and catch light — while the playing area itself is punctuated by freestanding, glowing door- and window-frames. Half of these portals lead nowhere, which at first reads as a striking aesthetic choice and then reveals itself as a thematic device: the production constantly asks the audience to consider thresholds, visibility, and absence. It’s a literal, and beautifully executed, visual pun on “Waving Through a Window.” The result is at once playful and unsettling, a frame for the action that keeps the audience slightly off balance in all the right ways.
A standing ovation for the entire cast of Engeman Theater’s Dear Evan Hansen.
Projection and scenic transitions here deserve particular praise. Anthony Churchill’s projection work begins with a back wall that functions like a cold, clinical grid of glowing screens — an Internet-era skin that feels both familiar and alien in a suburban theater setting. Over the course of the evening that grid dissolves into an open sky and a verdant orchard; the show trades the flicker of social media for the tactile, breathing presence of trees. It’s a powerful choice that deepens the story’s examination of connection and isolation, and it’s executed with economy and emotional clarity.
John Burkland’s lighting design complements the projections with precision. One of the most arresting moments is the use of saturated red and blue during “Good For You.” Rather than defaulting to the song’s on-paper angst, the lighting creates a visceral, almost cinematic atmosphere — colors cutting across the stage like emotional weather, shaping the audience’s perception of intimacy and performance. These choices elevate what could be spectacle into something that feels psychologically true.
The production also takes risks in characterization and beat choices that pay off. A quieter, more grounded interaction between Evan Hansen and Larry Murphy reframes the familiar “You Will Be Found” sequence; the scene earns its tearful catharsis not through broadness but through specific human exchange. And during the dialogue portion that leads into “If I Could Tell Her,” Evan does more than just glance through Connor’s room. He takes out one of the books on Connor’s shelf, a print of a classic novel, sits on the bed and quietly reads it briefly before Zoe enters the room and the scene continues as normal, allowing Evan to briefly see a piece of the real Connor not described in the “lie he never meant to tell.” Director Scott Weinstein shepherds the cast through these choices with a steady hand, allowing moments of tenderness and discomfort to breathe. Choreographer Robin Levine’s movement vocabulary—when present—serves the storytelling rather than calling attention to itself; the choreography supports the emotional through-line without upstaging it.
Max Hechtman meeting Jimmy Schumacher (Connor Murphy) after the show.
Bethpage’s own Jimmy Schumacher haunts this production. His Connor Murphy isn’t a plot device — he’s a whole person: erratic, wounded, viciously funny and unbearably tender in the same breath. Schumacher’s staging choices keep Connor vividly present throughout the evening — not just as an absence that drives the story, but as a pulsing, complicated presence that continually refocuses the audience’s sympathy and outrage. Watching him is a razor-sharp reminder that this show’s center is human grief and adolescent chaos; his performance wrecked me in the way only truth onstage can. Offstage he was one of the kindest people at the stage door, gracious with photos and words, which only deepened the impression that we had seen someone who lives honestly in the role rather than simply performing it.
Maggie Bera’s (Cynthia Murphy) kindness on stage continued through to stage door.
Maggie Bera’s Cynthia Murphy is quietly devastating. She plays a mother trying to hold the family together with both hands even as everything unravels around her — the slow, stubborn effort of someone who refuses to let go but can’t seem to find the words or the power to change what’s happened. Bera’s choices are subtle but searing: a look that says more than a line, a pause that reveals exhaustion not just from grief but from the daily labor of keeping a family upright. Her performance builds cumulatively; small domestic gestures become the scaffolding of a woman who is both protector and broken vessel. After the curtain, Bera’s warmth at the stage door — generous and grounded — felt like a continuation of that same humane presence she gives to Cynthia.
Aquila Sol’s portrayal of Zoe Murphy added a true sense of emotion to a sister grieving the loss of her brother, while Ryan M. Hunt showed range as the father handling the inner turmoils of the familial crisis as Larry Murphy.
Danny Meglio and Arwen‑Vira Marsh make Jared Kleinman and Alana Beck distinctly their own. Meglio’s Jared is nervy and earnest, a kid trying hard to belong, while Marsh’s Alana is layered with the mix of vulnerability, frustration, and fragile bravado that the role demands. Together they provide levity and real stakes, balancing the production’s heavier moments with authenticity rather than caricature.
Christina DeCicco’s Heidi Hansen — and particularly her rendition of “So Big/So Small” — registers as one of the night’s emotional fulcrums. DeCicco delivers the song with a crystalline sincerity that strips away any performative artifice and leaves the audience exposed and wet-eyed. Her vocal control and phrasing imbue the piece with a maternal tenderness that feels immediate and true; by the final note, the theater held its breath, and no one left their seat dry-eyed.
Meeting the production’s Evan Hansen himself, Joe Serafini, both before and after the show, was a true highlight of the night.
And then there is Joe Serafini (of High School Musical: The Musical - The Series fame) as Evan Hansen — easily one of the best I have seen in this role. Serafini inhabits the character with a kind of meticulous empathy: every twitch, every awkward smile, every apologetic stumble reads as honest human behavior rather than theatrical tic. He navigates Evan’s lies and self-deceptions with heartbreaking clarity, showing both the selfishness and the genuine loneliness that propel the character. Most striking is his vocal work — that voice, supple and vulnerable, honors everything fans cherish about the original while routing it through a distinctly Serafini-shaped humanity. He balances Evan’s moral ambiguity and pitiable earnestness in a way that never feels exploitative. Meeting Joe afterward — myself in the recognizable polo — felt like a full-circle moment: the actor who made us care so deeply about a flawed young man, approachable and warm in person.
Rounding out the production, the on-stage ensemble of Zac Decker, Chris Donovan, Lily Grubert, Alex Kidder and Jordan Radis is a revelatory addition, expanding the musical’s existing universe in smart, dynamic ways. They populate the school, the community and the online world with believable energy, providing texture and momentum without ever crowding the leads.
“Dear Evan Hansen, today’s going to be an amazing day and here’s why…”
This is, importantly, a non-replica production. Northport did not attempt to copy a Broadway template; instead, the creative team has made deliberate decisions that rethink space, technology, and the emotional logic of the piece. Those decisions are what make this staging feel fresh. It’s an interpretation that honors the original material while insisting on its own perspective.
Credit must go to the entire creative team. Their collaboration yields a production that is at once visually striking and emotionally sincere. The result drew an immediate standing ovation at the first preview — and it’s easy to see why.
If you’re on Long Island and you care about theatrical work that dares to reinterpret contemporary musicals rather than simply reenact them, put this production on your list. Dear Evan Hansen at the Engeman runs through October 25 — go see how this intimate theater transforms the internet-age story into something unexpectedly rooted in the trees.
Sincerely, Me.
