The current UK tour of Dear Evan Hansen offers something refreshingly different for theatregoers: a musical that feels more like a play with songs. Rather than following the typical formula of big chorus numbers and show-stopping finales, this production takes a more introspective route. It’s quieter, more considered—and all the more powerful for it.
Set in the aftermath of a high school tragedy, we meet a socially anxious teenager whose well-intentioned lie spirals into something far bigger than he ever imagined. At its heart, it’s a story about loneliness, connection and the search for belonging.
As a parent of a teenager, this story struck me on two levels: as a meticulously crafted piece of theatre and as a deeply personal reflection of the emotional turbulence that can sit just beneath the surface of adolescence. The show doesn’t shout for attention. Instead, it gently holds your face in its hands and makes you look at what it means to feel invisible, to long for connection, and to be heard.
Ryan Kopel’s performance as Evan is nothing short of astonishing. His Evan is fragile, anxious and heartbreakingly believable. The vulnerability he brings to the role through small, meticulous details such as hand gestures and a bowed, hesitant posture makes every moment feel painfully real. His portrayal speaks not only to mental health, but to neurodivergence too. I found some scenes almost too painful to watch, not because they were overplayed, but because they were so quietly raw. Judging by the silence and shifting in seats around me, it resonated as much with the other parents in the audience as it did with the younger fans of the show.
Lauren Conroy is beautifully cast as Zoe Murphy, capturing the guarded strength of a young woman navigating grief with caution and defiance. Alice Fearn, as Heidi Hansen, delivers a performance filled with grit and grace. Her rendition of “So Big / So Small” is a masterclass in controlled emotion—a moment that sneaks up and leaves a lasting mark.
Helen Anker and Richard Hurst bring real depth to Cynthia and Larry Murphy, their portrayals of parental grief and disconnection subtle and layered. Will Forgrave plays Connor Murphy with an edgy unpredictability that lingers long after his final scene, and Daniel Forrester is a highlight as Jared Kleinman, delivering bawdy teenage wit with a sharply human edge. Vivian Panka rounds out the core cast with sensitivity as Alana Beck, balancing academic drive with hidden vulnerability.
Technically, this production is exceptional. Matt Daw’s lighting design, paired with clever use of projected graphics (his past work with the Pet Shop Boys evident in the digital slickness), creates a fractured, flickering world that mirrors Evan’s emotional disorientation. It’s immersive without being overwhelming as technology is used as an extension of storytelling rather than a distraction.
The live music brings a rich, emotional undercurrent to the show. Pasek and Paul’s score doesn’t rely on brassy, bombastic numbers; instead, the soaring melodies feel like emotional exhalations. Songs like “You Will Be Found” and “For Forever” are breathtaking not because of their volume, but because of the hope they quietly build. They lift the narrative without ever pulling focus from the characters’ inner journeys.
What sets Dear Evan Hansen apart is its refusal to tie everything up in a bow. Its conclusion is tender and unresolved, offering not closure but growth. It’s rare to see a musical end on a whisper rather than a cheer, but here it’s both earned and altogether apt. Because, healing, as the show reminds us, often doesn’t come with a fanfare, it arrives quietly through small steps forward.
By the final bows, I was on my feet—not just for the performances, but the show had done what the best theatre always does: it had made me feel, reflect, and see the world a little more clearly. It’s not loud, it’s not flashy—and that’s precisely why it’s unforgettable.
Dear Evan Hansen is at Cheltenham until Saturday 10 May before continuing on to Norwich.