Few musicals tap into the contradictions of the digital age – hyper-connection, deep loneliness –
as powerfully as Dear Evan Hansen. Now touring the UK and Ireland, this modern classic tells a
story where grief, lies and viral fame collide with unsettling force. It’s a production that feels
more relevant than ever, exploring how online narratives spiral beyond control – and how easily
compassion blurs into performance.
Evan Hansen (Ryan Kopel), a painfully anxious teenager, is encouraged by his therapist to write
daily letters to himself. When one of these is found on the body of Connor Murphy – a troubled
classmate who has taken his own life – it’s mistaken for a suicide note. Evan seizes the moment
to comfort Connor’s grieving family, pretending they were close friends. What begins as a well-
meaning lie quickly snowballs into viral mythology, turning Evan into an unwitting poster boy for
teen mental health awareness. Backdated emails, tribute videos and social media adoration
build a persona he can’t control. The result is a persistent, uncomfortable question: does the
comfort he provides outweigh the deception that fuels it?
Kopel is extraordinary. He captures Evan’s fragility with remarkable specificity – fingers
twitching, words spilling out in panicked bursts, his hunched posture a constant apology for his
own existence. His falsetto floats like an escape hatch, a release valve from the pressure of
being. He doesn’t just play Evan – he inhabits him, delivering a performance that’s raw,
recognisable and painfully real.
Across the board, performances are tightly drawn and sharply delivered. Alice Fearn brings
aching authenticity to Heidi, Evan’s overworked mother, struggling to connect with a son who
won’t let her in. Lauren Conroy, as Zoe Murphy, is emotionally guarded – her wariness a quiet
resistance to the ways grief is being shaped and sold around her. Zoe becomes a grounding
force, her tentative connection with Evan full of genuine unease.
Will Forgrave, stepping into the role of Connor for this Birmingham opening night, gives a
performance that’s both precise and affecting. Connor shifts between the real and the imagined – volatile teen and ghostly conscience – and Forgrave moves between tones with ease, offering
a charismatic, layered portrayal that elevates the show’s most ethically charged moments.
Tom Dickerson’s Jared, who helps forge the emails, is all sardonic wit and guarded detachment – his one-liners landing with bite, even as they reveal something lonelier underneath. Vivian
Panka’s Alana is restless and determined – desperate to matter, to be seen and willing to co-opt
tragedy to do it. Both characters capture the performance-driven sincerity of online life, where
every emotion can be monetised or manipulated.
Morgan Large’s set and video design (with Ravi Deepres) wraps the stage in flickering screens,
hashtags, YouTube clips and scrolling comment threads. The effect is immersive and often
chilling – especially in the social media montages, where the frenzy of digital attention becomes
a character in its own right. But not all the visuals land. In places, they slip into the aesthetic of
stock video filler – hollow flashes that feel more like placeholders than purposeful design.
Photo: Supplied.
Pasek and Paul’s score remains a potent blend of vulnerability and urgency. Songs like ‘Waving
Through a Window’ and ‘You Will Be Found’ erupt from whispered insecurity into defiant
release, tracking Evan’s inner panic with a precision few musicals attempt. When the show
leans too heavily on sentiment, it’s the honesty in the performances that anchors it back.
Not everything holds together. The production’s unwavering commitment to its US setting
feels misplaced in a UK context. While most of the cast adopt American accents effectively,
several allow theirs to slip. These moments, though brief, break the illusion at key emotional
points – a small flaw, but one that pulls focus just when the show needs you most.
The ending, too, stumbles. After unflinchingly exploring the consequences of lies, loneliness,
and digital mythology, the final scenes retreat into reassurance. There’s talk of healing, growth,
and truth – but it lands too cleanly, leaving the messiness behind before it’s been fully reckoned
with.
Read: Dance review: Matthew Bourne’s The Midnight Bell, Sadler’s Wells, London
Still, Dear Evan Hansen remains a musical of real weight. Its performers are gripping, its staging
confident, and its questions – about identity, performance and the stories we tell ourselves – feel
sharper than ever. This is a show that doesn’t just reach for your emotions; it asks what
happens when the whole world is watching while you fall apart.
Dear Evan Hansen, The Alexandra, Birmingham
Book: Steven Levenson
Music and Lyrics: Benj Pasek and Justin Pauk
Director: Adam Penford
Set, Costume and co-Video Designer: Morgan Large
Choreographer: Carrie-Anne Ingrouille
Lighting Designer: Matt Daw
Sound Designer: Tom Marshall
Co-Video Designer: Ravi Deepres
Musical Director: Michael Bradley
Voice and Dialect Coach: Marianne Samuels
Orchestral Manager: Laura Llewellyn-Jones
Associate Director: Michelle Payne
Associate Designer: Matthew Cassar
Associate Video Designer: Luke Unsworth
Production Manager: Patrick Molony
Musical Supervisor: Matt Spencer-Smith
Band: Michael Bradley, Phil James, Adam Smith, Gordon Davidson, Guy Richman, Doug Harrison, Elizabeth Boyce, Gabriella Swallow
Cast: Ryan Kopel, Lauren Conroy, Alice Fearn, Helen Anker, Richard Hurst, Killian Thomas
Lefevre, Tom Dickerson, Vivian Panka, Sonny Monaghan, Lara Beth-Sas, Will Forgrave, Daniel
Forrester, Olivia-Faith Kamau, Jessica Lim
Dear Evan Hansen will be performed at The Alexandra until 21 June 2025 before touring to
Grand Opera House, York (24-28 June) and Playhouse, Edinburgh (1-5 July).