Touring production of Dear Evan Hansen brims with talent and emotion, and shows just why it remains one of the best and most beloved modern musicals of today.

There are musicals that make you cry, and then there are musicals that quietly hold your hand while you do. Dear Evan Hansen, now playing at the Sands Theatre, Marina Bay Sands, belongs firmly as part of the latter group. Presented in Singapore by Base Entertainment Asia, in association with ATG Productions, Gavin Kalin Productions and Nottingham Playhouse, this UK touring production arrives fresh from a sold-out 32-venue run across the United Kingdom, and it shows. Well-rehearsed, emotionally grounded, and brimming with sincerity, it’s a performance that brings out the most deeply human parts of the production, and finds the most affecting truths in sincere gestures.

For the uninitiated, Dear Evan Hansen tells the story of Evan Hansen (Ellis Kirk), a high school student with social anxiety who writes daily therapeutic letters to himself, one of which inadvertently falls into the hands of troubled classmate Connor Murphy (Rhys Hopkins). When Connor takes his own life, his parents (Helen Anker and Hal Fowler) mistake Evan’s letter for their son’s suicide note, believing the two boys were best friends. Evan, caught between guilt and longing, sustains the lie, finding a sense of belonging with the grieving Murphy family and newfound attention at school. But as the fabrications deepen, Evan must face the inevitable collapse of the world he’s built, and, perhaps, find a way to rebuild himself honestly.

It’s a story about connection in an age of disconnection, and a reminder that, as the show’s most famous lyric insists, “you will be found.” But it’s also a story about loneliness, and how technology magnifies our isolation even as it pretends to close the gap. To achieve that, this production frames Evan’s world through a sleek, layered design that shows both the physical and psychological world of its characters. Screens, suspended frames, and mirror-like panels create an environment where reality and digital illusion constantly blur, crafting an architecture of anxiety and reflection in our social media era.

The projections are clean and purposeful, where social media feeds cascade across the stage, while the recurring motif of windows is also present – some projected, some translucent, they remind us how close and yet how far the characters are from one another. A curious, recurring image is that of dirty windows: smudged screens that seem to ask, with comic solemnity, whether too much waving has left fingerprints on our view of one another. It’s a small visual symbol, effective in mood-setting, and both haunting and intimate. Essentially, the set becomes a visual metaphor for Evan’s fragile psyche, where every connection risks distortion.

Of course, any production of Dear Evan Hansen hinges heavily on its lead. At the centre of all this sits Ellis Kirk, reprising the role he previously played on the West End, and he is, quite simply, extraordinary. Kirk captures every nervous tic, every half-swallowed sentence, every apologetic laugh that defines Evan. His embodiment of the character is so lived-in that even silence feels meaningful. Vocally, he’s also impeccable. “Waving Through a Window” is delivered with crystalline phrasing and just the right touch of desperation, setting the emotional tone for the rest of the performance. His rendition of “For Forever” is beautifully controlled, balancing warmth and melancholy, the audience almost believing his invented friendship with Connor because Kirk sings it with such sincerity.

But it’s in “Words Fail” where his mastery shines: his voice shines with emotional authenticity, covering the stage with movement that fills the space while maintaining focus and intimacy. Kirk does the nearly impossible, making raw emotion sound heartbreakingly human. In so doing, Kirk’s Evan feels utterly real, an anxious teenager trying to hold his life together, and his sincerity anchors the show. By the final moments, when he meets the audience’s gaze directly, you sense he’s no longer waving through a window, but finally letting the world in.

This show thrives on chemistry between characters, between actors, and between heartbeats. The relationships here are so clearly drawn that every song feels earned. As Zoe Murphy, Zoë Athena brings warmth and quiet strength to a role that easily could have been one-dimensional. Her “Only Us” with Kirk radiates genuine tenderness; their chemistry makes you forget you’re in a 2,000-seat theatre. Rhys Hopkins’s Connor Murphy is another standout, establishing himself as a shape-shifter who moves seamlessly between menacing presence and spectral conscience. His performance during this performance was particularly alive, bringing humour, heartbreak, and intensity to every reappearance, and with it all the could-have beens, if only he were still alive.

Tom Dickerson’s Jared Kleinman walks the perfect line between comic relief and subtle vulnerability; his timing in “Sincerely, Me” is pitch-perfect, but what impresses most is how he hints at Jared’s own loneliness beneath the jokes. Olivia-Faith Kamau’s Alana Beck deftly captures the ambition and insecurity of the overachiever archetype, her voice sharp and commanding but grounded by flashes of empathy.

And then, there’s the parents. Helen Anker (Cynthia) and Hal Fowler (Larry) as the Murphys, Rebecca McKinnis (Heidi Hansen) as Evan’s mother. The two mothers, Anker and McKinnis, share remarkable chemistry, and maintain a difficult balance of sympathy and tension. McKinnis, reprising her West End role, remains the show’s emotional anchor, and her rendition of “So Big/So Small” is a masterclass in restraint, delivering heartbreak with the kind of clarity that silences a theatre. Fowler’s “To Break in a Glove” also shines, revealing the quiet sadness of a father who never quite knew how to connect, played with warmth and gentle regret.

Musically, the production soars, though not without the occasional turbulence of the Sands Theatre’s acoustics. The sound mix is clear, allowing Pasek and Paul’s intricate lyrics to shine, but the space itself occasionally betrays the performers. When the volume is pushed, especially in ensemble crescendos like “You Will Be Found” and “Disappear”, minor feedback occasionally mars an otherwise flawless delivery. Still, the production’s decision to favour intimacy over decibel levels is wise, and Dear Evan Hansen works best when it feels like a sincere conversation, not a concert spectacular.

Direction from the UK touring team maintains a delicate tonal balance between intimacy and scale. The projection design ensures we always know who’s speaking and where, even during overlapping online scenes and every moment of digital communication feels clear and dramatically motivated. The ensemble functions as both chorus and conscience, their voices swelling to envelop Evan’s lie in waves of empathy and irony.

Thematically, this production understands that Dear Evan Hansen isn’t simply about a boy who lies, but about the very real cost of wanting to belong. The set’s physical layers, from sliding walls, floating panels, to reflective surfaces, reinforce this beautifully. Every scene peels back another layer of the characters’ defences, until by the end, what’s left is raw, unadorned humanity. When the orchard finally blooms in light, the mirrors multiply Evan’s image into infinity, forming a visual metaphor for every person who’s ever felt unseen.

By curtain call, when the full company gathers for “You Will Be Found”, the effect is communal, cathartic, and quietly transcendent. Kirk, now fully present, makes eye contact with the audience, a gesture that bridges the fictional and the real. In that moment, the message is simple but profound: nobody is alone, not in this theatre, not in this story, not in this world.

This production of Dear Evan Hansen is a production that stands as a benchmark of sincerity and craft. It’s technically assured, emotionally resonant, and anchored by a cast laden with chemistry. It starts by waving through the window, then throwing it wide open, inviting us to look inside, see ourselves, and remember that even here in Singapore, thousands of miles from Broadway, “you will be found.”

Photo Credit: Nottingham Playhouse

Dear Evan Hansen plays from 30th October to 16th November 2025 at the Sands Theatre at Marina Bay Sands. Tickets available here