Director: Adam Penford
Book: Stephen Levenson
Music and Lyrics: Benj Pasek and Justin Paul
Dear Evan Hansen. Today was going to be a good day. And then the curtain opened on Dear Evan Hansen.
Touted as ‘the mental health musical’ the show tells the story of titular Evan (Ryan Kopel) who has been tasked by his therapist to write himself encouraging letters to help control his anxiety. Unfortunately, his first, rather sardonic one is taken by Connor Murphy (Killian Thomas Lefevre), and later found on his dead body and assumed to be his suicide note. A desperate Evan accidentally invents an entire friendship between himself and the troubled teen to appease the grief of Connor’s Mother, Cynthia (Helen Anker). Inevitably everything spirals out of control and Evan ends up creating The Connor Project, partially to keep Connor’s memory alive, and mostly to just stay relevant in the online rewrite of his life story.
It’s meant to be a musing on how people canonise the dead, especially after a suicide, whether they deserve it or not. Apparently anyway, it’s not entirely clear when this is discussed in any depth more than a saccharine ballad from Connor’s sister Zoe (Lauren Conroy) who quickly gets over it. It’s meant to also be a musing on the nature of anxiety and the teen mental health crisis but again, aside from many, many interchangeable weepy ballads, it’s not entirely clear where that is discussed either.
On the positive side, the entire cast are wonderful, with acting and singing credentials for days. Kopel perfectly showcases the nerdy, anxious, possibly autistic coded ball of teen neurosis that is Evan, and Lefevre is a wonderful bad boy counterpoint who shows real comedy chops as well as a darker seriousness as Connor. Their duet Sincerely, Me is a highlight of the show due to being the only catchy and clever song and dance number. Conroy’s Zoe is beautifully down to Earth, and her voice is incredible. It’s a shame that halfway through Act One the technicians had to stop the show to sort out her mic, breaking the flow before her first song even started. Unfortunately, tech issues are rife, with a lot of lighting fails and missed marks as well.
Elsewhere, Evan’s friends and cofounders Jared (Tom Dickerson) and Alana (Vivian Panka) are the kind of teenagers we have all met – a little bit desperate, a little immature, but doing their best to just get through High School; and Evan’s own Mother Heidi (Alice Fearn) is heartbreakingly relatable even for people not struggling as a working single mother to a teen with mental health issues (Fearn is one of the strongest actors on the stage).
Sadly, the strong cast are let down by a weak plot and a frankly godawful series of musical numbers. Out of 16 songs, only three are not ballads (one of them is a reprise and another may be a sneaky power ballad, but at least its angry). That might not be an issue had any of the remaining 13 songs had anything of substance or true heart felt hook in them. Each one sounds pretty much the same and consists of an overly emotional singer repeating faux-philosophical phrases while crying in a spotlight, while the rest of the cast either ignore them or watch intently. The sheer number of these type of songs becomes boring quickly, and any impact they might have had in isolation is destroyed as the temptation rises to disassociate and stare into space until they finally finish at least a verse and a half later than they needed to. But they will sound good in 30 second TikTok lip syncs, and that appears to really be all that matters. This musical screams made for Gen Z to share clips from while pretending they are way deeper than they actually are. It’s performative activism at it’s finest.
Dear Evan Hansen, it is a shame that your musical completely fails to do anything it set out to. Benj Pasek and Justin Paul’s songs are tedious to listen to, and any joy bought by Steven Levenson’s genuinely funny script is lost in the fear of yet another ballad waiting to mug each scene. Morgan Large’s inventive and IKEA clad stage is underused by Director Adam Penford, as his staging is so static that the actors’ feet may as well be glued to the ground, except when choreographer Carrie-Anne Ingrouille has the ensemble do some GCSE worthy dramatic dancing. And most egregious of all, the whole show seems to have no idea what it wants to say. Evan faces zero consequences for his actions and it’s unclear if you’re meant to root for him or condemn him; no one ever learns a single real thing about Connor; and there is absolutely no guidance for any teenager who might genuinely be struggling with either their own mental health or the untimely death of a friend or peer, nor for the parents who support them. While it must be congratulated for the conversation it has apparently started amongst teenagers, which is always going to be a positive, it’s to be hoped that they also investigate something more substantial than this incomprehensible fluff piece. Do yourself a favour and go see Heathers instead. Sincerely, Me.
Runs until Saturday 9 November 2024
The Reviews Hub Score
Forgettable tedium
