[Trigger warnings: mentions of death]
I’ve been listening to a lot of Teenage Dirtbag by Wheatus these days. It’s an iconic song with a relatable storyline about wanting someone to notice you, wrapped in wholesomely juvenile 2000’s pop-punk tunes.
That song could also summarise the first few minutes of Dear Evan Hansen, with the titular Evan Hansen playing said teenage dirtbag—except it’s made abundantly clear that his struggles are much more than just pining for a pretty girl.
The play follows Evan, a high school boy with severe social anxiety, who starts to fabricate a relationship with a deceased teenager, Connor Murphy, in hopes to console the Murphy family. Though innocent at first, Evan’s efforts take a malicious turn, and soon his comforting lies become extremely uncomfortable to watch.
As someone who has heard act one’s closing number You Will Be Found before knowing the plot, I thought it to be one of Pasek and Paul’s signature anthems of confidence and hope (à la This is Me from The Greatest Showman) and was prepared to be moved to tears. Instead, I was struck with horror as the song gained a more sinister, even parasitic meaning.
Dear Evan Hansen stuns with sincerely written scores and strong vocal performances. I found myself looking away from some intense moments on stage—the fight preceding Words Fail being one such instance—thanks to the play’s incisive script and acting that feels painfully real. Ellis Kirk and Rebecca McKinnis were particularly convincing as Evan and Heidi Hansen, but the charisma Rhys Hopkin’s brings into Connor steals the spotlight each limited time he makes an appearance.
However, the thing that sticks with you after is the plot, above all else. It’s easy to watch Dear Evan Hansen with an “angel on your shoulder”-type attitude, wincing at every misstep Evan makes. But behind the coming-of-age genre and supposed juvenility is a thought-provoking story asking questions that punch: how much darkness do we have to experience before you start doing what Evan does?
How much of the stories that we tell about others—and ourselves—are real? Are we already lying to fit in?
If so, how far are we willing to take the lie?
Today is as amazing a day as any to watch Dear Evan Hansen, and this has been why. Sincerely, me.
Review by Gabriella Adytanthio
Illustrator, art director, designer who writes sometimes.
Dear Evan Hansen can be caught at Sands Theatre, Marina Bay Sands until the 16th of November. Get your tickets here.