Dear Evan Hansen at the Alexandra Theatre, Birmingham

By Neil Cox

In the quiet before the lights dim at The Alexandra Theatre in Birmingham, there’s an unusual hush. It’s not the typical low buzz of pre-show excitement. It’s more introspective; nervous, almost. Whether it’s the reputation of Dear Evan Hansen or something deeper, the audience seems to sense what’s coming. This isn’t just another night at the theatre. It’s a collective breath before a plunge into one of the most emotionally resonant musicals of the last decade.

From its Broadway premiere in 2016, Dear Evan Hansen quickly became a cultural touchstone. With music and lyrics by Benj Pasek and Justin Paul, and a book by Steven Levenson, the show captured the anxiety, loneliness, and desire for connection that define the modern experience; especially for young people. Now, under the sensitive and thoughtful direction of Adam Penford, the UK tour brings this story to Birmingham, and it does so with aching poignancy, humour, and truth.

The story of Dear Evan Hansen centres on a socially anxious teenager, Evan Hansen, who finds himself at the centre of a misunderstanding that spirals into a viral movement. After classmate Connor Murphy takes his own life, Evan’s therapeutic letter to himself, mistaken as Connor’s suicide note is discovered by the grieving Murphy family. Believing Evan and Connor were secretly friends, they seek comfort in him. Rather than correct the misunderstanding, Evan fabricates an elaborate friendship, leading to the creation of ‘The Connor Project,’ a student-led initiative aimed at mental health awareness.

What begins as a seemingly harmless white lie quickly mushrooms into something far more complex. Evan, suddenly thrust into the limelight, must navigate the emotional terrain of grief, guilt, love, and identity, while keeping his secret buried.

The brilliance of Dear Evan Hansen lies in how it handles this morally tangled narrative. It doesn’t give easy answers. Evan’s deception is neither glorified nor vilified outright. Instead, the musical forces us to sit with the discomfort, asking what it means to be seen, what it costs to connect, and whether the truth is always the most compassionate path.

Taking on the role of Evan Hansen (Ryan Kopel ) is no easy task. The character is on stage for nearly the entire show, delivering emotionally charged monologues and vocally demanding songs. Ryan Kopel rises to the occasion with an unforgettable performance that is as fragile as it is compelling. From the moment he appears; shoulders hunched, eyes darting, voice cracking, Kopel captures the essence of Evan’s isolation. You don’t just see his anxiety; you feel it in your own chest. Singing, ‘Waving Through a Window,’ becomes a masterclass in emotional build-up and his voice begins tentative and unsure, but grows in strength and clarity, even as the lyrics express the same paralysing fear of being unnoticed.

What makes Kopel’s portrayal so effective is his restraint. He doesn’t overplay the tics or nervous energy. Everything is calibrated, sincere, and heartbreakingly real. During ‘Words Fail,’ his breakdown is not theatrical or melodramatic. It is slow, raw, and quiet, like a dam cracking under the weight of guilt and longing. You hear the catch in his voice, see the collapse in his body, and for a moment, the entire theatre holds its breath. But Kopel doesn’t only inhabit Evan’s pain, he finds his joy too; however fleeting. His interactions with Zoe Murphy (played by Lauren Conroy) are tender and awkward in all the right ways, filled with the kind of nervous charm that defines first love. There’s lightness and humour in his scenes with Jared (Tom Dickerson), and moments of real vulnerability with Heidi (Alice Fearn), his mother. Kopel’s Evan is a full person, flawed, endearing, tragic, and completely unforgettable.

While Evan is the emotional epicentre, the success of this production rests on a stellar ensemble of supporting characters, each contributing to the show’s rich emotional landscape. Credit must go to the following cast members:

Heidi Hansen (Alice Fearn) delivers one of the most stirring performances of the night. A single mother working tirelessly to support her son, Heidi is fierce, loving, and heartbreakingly human. Her solo ‘So Big / So Small’ is one of the show’s emotional high points, and in Fearn’s hands, it becomes an open wound. She sings not with vocal bravado, but with the aching vulnerability of a mother trying and failing to hold everything together.

Lauren Conroy plays Zoe Murphy the complexity of the character she deserves. Too often reduced to, the love interest, Zoe in this production is something far more grounded. Conroy plays her with quiet strength and guarded warmth. In requiem her grief is clear but complicated and she doesn’t mourn her brother as the world remembers him, but as the angry, troubled boy she knew. It’s a beautiful performance, filled with nuance and authenticity.

Jared Kleinman (Tom Dickerson) is the show’s comic relief, but he’s no mere jester and beneath the snarky one-liners is a boy desperate to be included. Dickerson brings impeccable timing to his jokes, especially in ‘Sincerely, Me,’ but also hints at the sadness behind the smirk. His final confrontation with Evan is angry, disillusioned and is gut-punchingly real.

Killian Thomas Lefevre performed Connor Murphy with haunting intensity, however his stage time is limited, he remains a ghostly presence throughout the show, often reappearing in Evan’s imagination. Lefevre’s portrayal is sharp and unsettling, especially during the fabricated flashbacks, where he oscillates between warmth and menace, reminding us that Connor, too, was more than a headline.

The Director Adam Penford makes several smart choices that elevate this production beyond a simple restaging of the Broadway hit. His direction is subtle, character-driven, and emotionally attuned. Penford understands that Dear Evan Hansenis not about big set pieces or choreographed numbers. It’s about human connection or the lack of it. The scene transitions are fluid, often blending one moment into the next without pause, reflecting the way emotions bleed into each other in real life. There’s a cinematic quality to how the show is staged, with characters moving through pools of light and shadow as if stepping in and out of memory. The set, designed by Morgan Large is minimalist but effective. A series of digital screens dominate the background, displaying texts, social media posts, and swirling hashtags. These projections serve as both narrative tools and visual metaphors. When Evan sings ‘You Will Be Found,’ the stage becomes a whirlwind of online support, likes, comments, shares and simultaneously uplifting and overwhelming. It’s a reminder of how digital validation can feel like real connection, even when it’s hollow.

Lighting and sound design also play crucial roles.l with the lighting shifts subtly with the emotional tone; cool blues for isolation, warm ambers for connection. Sound cues are crisp, with every line of dialogue and lyric delivered clearly, even in the quieter moments. The show resists over-amplification, allowing silence and stillness to speak just as loudly as music.

What truly binds Dear Evan Hansen together is its stunning score. Pasek and Paul’s songs aren’t just musically impressive, they’re narrative tools, revealing the inner lives of characters more deeply than any spoken line could like ‘Waving Through a Window,’ arguably the show’s anthem, is more than a catchy melody. It’s a cry for help, cloaked in pop rhythm. The repeated phrase ‘Will I ever be more than I’ve always been?’ echoes the anxieties of anyone who’s ever felt invisible. The final number, ‘You Will Be Found,’ is both a reassurance and a warning. It celebrates the idea that none of us are truly alone, while also questioning the authenticity of that sentiment in an age of curated compassion. When the ensemble joins in, it becomes a gospel of hope, a moment where art genuinely reaches out and holds its audience.

The performance tackles difficult themes: suicide, mental illness, deceit, and the illusion of connection in the digital age. But it does so without ever feeling heavy-handed or exploitative. At its core, the musical is about the universal need to be seen. Whether it’s Evan, desperate to matter; Zoe, desperate to be more than ‘the girl whose brother died;’ or Heidi, desperate to be a good mother; the show reminds us that every person is fighting a battle invisible to others.

The moral ambiguity of Evan’s actions is handled with care. The production doesn’t ask us to condone his lies, but it also doesn’t ask us to condemn him. Instead, it invites us to understand. That’s what makes this show so special; it’s not about judgment, but about empathy.

In Birmingham, where community identity is strong and local audiences are deeply connected to the arts, the show takes on an added layer of resonance. You can feel it in the auditorium in the way people lean forward during ‘So Big / So Small,’ or the audible gasps during Evan’s confession. This is not passive watching; this is communal reflection. As the final notes fade and the lights go down, there’s a moment of silence. Then, applause erupts; long, heartfelt, and sustained. Not the kind of automatic standing ovation that greets every show these days, but something more genuine. People are standing not just out of admiration, but out of gratitude.

Dear Evan Hansen at The Alexandra Theatre is more than just a good night out, it’s an experience. It’s a mirror held up to our collective loneliness, our need for connection, and our struggle to tell the truth in a world that rewards performance. With stellar performances, beautiful staging, and music that cuts straight to the heart, this production reaffirms why theatre matters.

If you’ve ever felt invisible, or if you’ve ever loved someone who has, this show is for you. It won’t give you easy answers. But it will make you feel deeply, honestly, and perhaps, for the first time in a long while, like you are not alone. Dear Evan Hansen is at The Alexandra Theatre, Birmingham until Saturday the 21st June 2025.