By Jason and Alisha Hagey
Pioneer Theatre Company’s Dear Evan Hansen stages a paradoxical parable for the digital age. Steven Levenson’s (Book) script is both intimate and unsparing, tracing how a single lie – Evan’s invented friendship with the late Connor Murphy – spirals into viral sainthood. The apple orchard he fabricates is a false Eden where grief and hope intertwine. From that seed of invention, the Internet blooms into both savior and accomplice. Empathy is broadcast and performative, rather than genuine, where connection has become equally a miracle and a mirage.
With glistening melodies, Benj Pasek and Justin Paul (Music and Lyrics) transform longing into a liturgy. “Waving Through A Window” remains an anxiety-riddled introvert’s psalm. An anthem of belonging that sounds transcendent until you realize its hollowness, “You Will Be Found” rises like a hymn for the hyperconnected. Their genius lies in how the songs, though beautifully written, are not just songs – they move the plot along in a way that is unusual for musical theatre, which often prides itself on simply stringing together memorable moments. There is an iterative element to their storytelling, as evident in the music. Instead of trying to create or emphasize emotion, the songs propel the story in a unique way that is profoundly emotional and intellectually poignant simultaneously. Each song builds upon the previous one while reaching forward to the next scene, the next song. Paul, Pasek, and Levenson have written a requiem for authenticity in addition to a musical. In Dear Evan Hansen, the question they boldly ask is whether being seen is the same as being known.
The conflict between silence and sound is ideal for Karen Azenberg’s (Director & Choreographer) direction. She expertly frames isolation. Azenberg allows quiet passages to linger like unread messages. Her choreography focuses more on emotional architecture than dance. She maps out Evan’s inner landscape with gesture and distance. The movements of the group reflect the constant upheaval of the virtual world that both elevates and engulfs Evan. The effect is ruthless and captivating. The glow of the stage light sanctifies Evan. He is utterly alone in the dark. Azenberg’s vision is a razor cutting through the well-manicured, fabricated reality of the online world, laying bare the actual reality where digital deteriorates relationships and flesh-and-blood connections are more substantive and necessary.
In a role that requires emotional agility, accuracy, and vulnerability, Kyle Dalsimer (Evan Hansen) bears a heavy emotional burden. Evan is a notoriously contradictory and complicated character. Sincere but dishonest, timid but eager to connect. Through expressive physicality, Dalsimer navigates these dualities, capturing Evan’s social anxiety and depression. Before he speaks, his slouched shoulders, darting eyes, and hesitant movements convey a great deal. As you watch him, almost instinctively, wipe his hands on his coat or shirt, you believe his sweaty palms. The visible tics then fade away as he starts to sing songs like “If I Could Tell Her” and “Words Fail,” exposing the inner monologue and the unadulterated strength of a young man who longs to be noticed. The show is anchored with heart and authenticity by this performance, which feels both fierce and fragile.
Donna Vivino (Heidi Hansen) gives one of the night’s most remarkable performances. She captures the weariness of a parent trying her hardest in a problematic situation, striking a balance between resilience and insecurity. She has exceptional vocal control. Every note in “So Big / So Small” conveys hope and heartbreak with a subdued intensity that fills the theater with a profound sense of emotion. She is beautiful and broken. Her restraint, which allows emotion to emerge organically from every look and gesture rather than exaggerating Heidi’s suffering, is what makes her performance so special.
Elyse Bell (Zoe Murphy) elevates a role that could easily become clichéd by adding emotional depth and nuance. She skillfully uncovers flashes of brilliance, particularly in her interpretations of music. “Requiem” and “Only Us” particularly shine because of her. Bell’s skill at acting through song is enchanting. She gives a heartfelt and realistic portrayal. Her final moments in the show feel personal.
Marika Aubrey (Cynthia Murphy) brings a quiet intensity to the stage, her performance marked by earnestness and a deep feeling of longing. Her portrayal of a mother searching for something good in her son’s troubled life is deeply touching. You understand her hope, her need to find something to hold on to while everything else falls apart. Andrew Samonsky (Larry Murphy) possesses one of the most beautiful voices that is both rich and resonant. His vocal presence adds weight to every scene he’s in, anchoring the family’s turmoil with quiet solidity.
Jordan Briggs (Connor Murphy) is larger than life, inhabiting both Connor, the troubled teenager, and the echo of Evan’s inner thoughts. His dual nature is so compelling that even as a figment of Evan’s imagination, he feels real. His character embodies memory, guilt, and longing that linger due to Briggs’s presence. He has an upturned smile that he only shares with Dalsimer, which makes his interactions feel so genuine that you forget, momentarily, that he is not a memory but a conjectured fantasy.
Larry Saperstein (Jared Kleinman) and Khadija Sankoh (Alana Beck) provide much-needed humor amidst the story’s seriousness. Sankoh’s assertive charm works in Alana’s favor. She strikes a stunning balance between uncomfortable openness and ambition. However, Saperstein’s flawless delivery and dry wit provide a welcome counterpoint, and he delivers some of the show’s most memorable laughs. Saperstein’s Fiddler on the Roof incident is hilarious.
Onstage, video of social media feeds swirl and multiply, transforming the set into a living metaphor: the echo chamber as cathedral. The displayed screens are a kind of abstract stained glass, through which we see the digital world; the differently sized and turned rectangles resemble computer monitors and smartphones. Bryce Cutler (Scenic & Video Designer) blurs the line between stage and screen. His videos don’t just decorate the space. Scenes morph in real time, their motion catching the restless pulse of online life. Beneath it all, the set’s solid edges – the desks, the doorframes, the hard light on painted wood – keep you tethered to something real, a reminder that the virtual always needs a floor to stand on. In addition to serving as a backdrop, this avant-garde design is a character that constantly evolves and comments on the play’s themes.
Paul Miller (Lighting Designer) transforms passion into mood. Darkness gathers around the edges, while warm light softens the loneliness. With their attention diverted elsewhere and their faces illuminated but inaccessible, the ensemble frequently stands in the cool, spectral glow of screens; the design hums with paradox rather than preaching a message. In the same frame, solitude and connection coexist, with the digital world encroaching until it almost feels tangible.
There is an interplay where you ask: Is it set design, lighting design, or just great, cohesive design that gives the audience so much to think about? On stage, some circles and dashes appear like Braille on one hand, or Morse code on the other. It makes one wonder, though, if these inclusions are an embodiment of the ellipses of thought, the pauses in life, and the continuation of moving forward.
The experience of seeing Dear Evan Hansen live is very different from just listening to the cast recording. The entire production, which is woven together with Steven Levenson’s brilliant book and masterfully directed by Karen Azenberg, gives the story clarity, coherence, and emotional resonance. In contrast, the songs alone may come across as emotionally fragmented or overly sentimental on their own. Instead, the outstanding ability of Pioneer Theatre Company’s cast and creative team helps establish a unified whole that speaks. The material is transformed into something human and unquestionably moving by their combined artistic ability. It’s worth your time to see it in person. It’s a theatrical experience that encourages introspection, empathy, and discussion.
Pioneer Theatre Company Presents Dear Evan Hansen
Book by Steven Levenson
Music and Lyrics by Benj Pasek and Justin Paul
DATES:
October 24-November 8, 2025
TIMES:
Monday – Thursday, 7:00 PM
Friday and Saturday, 7:30 PM
Saturday, 2:00 PM
Dear Evan Hansen will be performed at Simmons Pioneer Memorial Theatre.
300 South 1400 East, Salt Lake City
PRICES
$57 – $83
Students K – 12 or ages 5-18 are half-price Monday – Thursday
MORE INFO:
Box Office: 801-581-6961
Open 10:00 AM – 6:00 PM, Monday – Friday
PTC Show Listing – Dear Evan Hansen
Pioneer Theatre Company Instagram
Pioneer Theatre Company Facebook
ASL-Interpreted performances: Monday, November 3 at 7:00 PM and Thursday, November 6 at 7:00 PM
Curtain Call for All (“name your own price”) performances: October 24-November 8, 2025. Curtain Call for All tickets for Dear Evan Hansen will be available starting Monday, October 20 at 10:00 AM
Discounts are also available for University of Utah students, staff, and faculty. Visit PioneerTheatre.org/UniversityofUtah for more details.
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