Daily TribuneIn an age when the destigmatization of mental health is underway, 'Dear Evan Hansen’ is more relevant than ever.
The clever use of mirrored sliding panels and a glasshouse motif — easily assembled for a touring production — amplifies the emotional impact.
This production succeeds because it is never about showmanship, but a heart-to-heart with the audience.
THE tale follows a high school kid, Evan, theater-famous for his blue-and-white striped shirt and his lie that snowballs.
Toward the end of Dear Evan Hansen, my eyes blurred with tears. Theatergoers next to me were sniffing loudly.
It is rare nowadays for theater to make you “feel.” In any art, emotion is critical. It should reach the audience. Dear Evan Hansen does exactly that. It is packed with emotion. No spectacle. No explosive showpieces. Just a contemplative and intimate reflection on loneliness. It is a sensitive play, laced with comedy, yet it communicates the painful, frightening truths of depression and anxiety.
Playing at The Theatre at Solaire until 5 October, this GMG Productions staging is not a replica of Michael Greif’s Broadway or West End versions. This is Adam Penford’s international UK tour of Dear Evan Hansen.
It feels like a small play rather than a showstopping musical, one that sings our secret letters to ourselves. Its small cast, minimalist set, innovative lighting and projection, and clean color motif keep the story at the center. Here, the narrative is king, and the message is a lifeboat. The songs, from American EGOT-winning duo Benj Pasek and Justin Paul (The Greatest Showman, La La Land), are not mere catchy melodies or soaring ballads — they are heartfelt anthems of the innermost recesses of the heart.
The tale follows a high school kid, Evan, theater-famous for his blue-and-white striped shirt, and his lie that snowballs — that he was best friends with a troubled student who committed suicide, Connor Murphy.
Embarrassed that he is seeing a therapist who tasked him with writing letters to himself, restricted by his lack of social skills and empathetic toward Connor’s mourning family, he bluffs his way forward out of self-preservation and a need for love and acceptance.
For such a straightforward, forthright book by Steven Levenson, Dear Evan Hansen cuts deep and distills the complex nature of the human condition. Its plainspoken approach is its triumph. Whether you are a high school student or a grandparent in the audience, you relate to a teenager seeking emotional security in the absence of stable relationships.
The Tony and Grammy-winning musical is simple in language yet unflinching in its candidness. “You Will Be Found” and “For Forever,” for example, will put a lump in the throat of even the most disenchanted theatergoer for their rawness.
Morgan Large’s minimalist design, Matt Daw’s lighting and Ravi Deepres’ video design never distract. Instead, they extend the emotional journey of the characters. The clever use of mirrored sliding panels and a glasshouse motif — easily assembled for a touring production — amplifies the emotional impact.
The backdrop is a wall with mirrored panels on all four sides, like an open box with short flaps. Lighting and color are bounced and reflected. Sometimes they act as smokescreens of lies, fragments of the characters’ journey, or as a window into a sky that extends “for forever.” These simple designs intensify the emotional impact - never to impress but to be understood. In one instance, a simple timing of an explosion of yellow light just as Evan sings the line about basking in the sun evokes a thousand emotions.
This production succeeds because it is never about showmanship, but a heart-to-heart with the audience. At some point, like Evan, we have all been broken, hoping to be found, trying our best to climb, one branch at a time, and to keep going even when another foothold seems impossible.
Ellis Kirk as Evan Hansen captures the neurotic physicality of a socially anxious, lonely boy. Having caught the sneak peek during the media call before the gala, Sonny Monaghan as Alternate Evan Hansen also sings pitch-perfectly. Meanwhile, Rhys Hopkins as Connor Murphy embodies the troubled, dark side of depression.
The rest of the cast are fully competent: Rebecca McKinnis as Evan’s mom, Heidi; Zoë Athena, Helen Anker and Hal Fowler as the Murphys; Tom Dickerson as Jared Kleinman, and Olivia-Faith Kamau as Alana Beck. And these supporting characters are not mere padding — they serve critical roles in portraying mental health within the family dynamic.
What particularly makes this story layered is how the Murphys cope with Connor’s loss, especially the sister Zoe. The dead Connor may have been loved, but he was not liked. This adds texture to the emotional plane of the story, perfectly expressed in the song “Requiem,” where conflicting emotions surface from each family member — especially when Connor’s death seems to bring relief rather than grief, questions rather than loss.
In an age when the destigmatization of mental health is underway, Dear Evan Hansen is more relevant than ever. It is both triggering and hopeful, accessible and insightful, a theater experience that unifies audiences. It reminds us that even in our darkest moments, we can be seen, heard and found.
