Dear Evan Hansen is one of the few musicals whose core themes can resonate anywhere in the world. Social media, school bullying, and the moral complexity of lies told for acceptance are challenges of the 21st century — regardless of country.
The Korean production followed the original staging faithfully, using multiple monitors layered around the stage to create a constantly shifting canvas for backgrounds, newsfeeds, and the overwhelming noise of social media. Even the main curtain — designed as a blank laptop page — prepared the audience for a story shaped by technology, anxiety, and a desperate search for connection.

Though Evan’s story is simple, it is deeply uncomfortable. His well-meaning lie spirals into a narrative that hurts as much as it heals. That discomfort, while essential, leaves some wondering whether the plot could have found a way to preserve Evan’s moral integrity. In Korea, Park Kang-hyun’s Evan was portrayed with Asperger-like traits — a choice that made Evan’s poor judgment feel less like selfishness and more like a genuine social misstep. It was a small but significant adaptation that made the character’s actions more understandable and sympathetic to the audience.

Park Kang-hyun’s Evan was, without question, the best performance I have seen from him. In previous musicals, I occasionally noticed slight pitch inconsistencies, but as Evan he was flawless — pitch-perfect, emotionally resonant, and fully immersed in character. His vocal clarity and resonance filled the theater. He navigated falsetto and chest voice transitions with technical mastery. Particularly impressive was his ability to simulate crying while singing without losing pitch or projection — and, on occasion, to truly cry while maintaining vocal control.

His physical acting — the lopsided shoulder, the nervous posture, the subtle gestures — erased Park Kang-hyun from the stage. What remained was Evan Hansen. By the final performance, this transformation was complete. I no longer saw an actor performing. I saw Evan.

"Waving Through a Window" began gently but exploded in its reprise, a thrilling arc that carried all the way to the third balcony. "For Forever" reminded me of when Park sang it in English with his Miraclass members during a YouTube live broadcast. The original English rhyme structure adds a unique musicality, which he preserved beautifully. The Korean lyrics were surprisingly well-adapted — no easy feat, given the complex, modern social themes. However, repeating phrases like "for forever" could not be fully retained in translation. This challenge became especially clear when comparing his English performance to the Korean version. In the musical, I almost stopped noticing whether the lyrics rhymed at all — the beauty of his singing transcended the need for rhyme.

"If I Could Tell Her" featured breathtaking shifts in vocal color, with precise pitch and diction. It was in this number that Park fully disappeared into character. "Words Fail" was the evening’s emotional peak. Park’s slightly torn falsetto and the restraint he showed — holding back tears while letting the emotion flood the vocals — moved not just me but the entire audience. Even after the scene transitioned, I remained emotionally anchored to that song.

The final scene’s unexpected apple tree was a brilliant staging choice, symbolizing hope and growth amidst the aftermath of difficult truths.

The supporting cast brought authenticity and depth. Connor Murphy, Jared Kleinman, and Alana Beck felt convincingly like high school students, with believable physicality and emotional range. Zoe Murphy’s casting was the production’s only notable weakness. Both actresses struggled with pitch accuracy and favored darker vocal tones that, while perhaps appropriate for the character, didn’t fully connect for me.

The mothers were excellently cast. Both actresses portrayed parental exhaustion and the helplessness of adults watching their children struggle. Each mother expressed her care in a distinct way, though it was clear that Heidi Hansen was also struggling to balance work, study, and parenting alone. She had sent Evan to a therapist and encouraged him to write the letter beginning "Dear Evan Hansen," which inadvertently set the entire story in motion. In doing so, she seemed to hide behind the guidance of specialists, avoiding direct confrontation with the deeper problems — as many parents understandably do when overwhelmed.

Yet "So Big/So Small" became the first true moment of connection, acknowledgment, forgiveness, and acceptance between mother and son. It also marked the moment when Heidi embraced the reality of their family — no longer defined by absence (a missing father figure), but realizing that love and understanding are what truly make a family whole, not traditional roles. Though portrayed by two different actresses across performances, the role consistently conveyed how parents in similar situations can carry different emotional weights, yet arrive at a shared understanding of what it means to be a parent.

Larry Murphy didn’t sing as strongly but acted with quiet authority. Both actors brought warmth to the role, creating a father figure who, in another life, might have saved Connor from isolation.

One element that remains challenging — in any production — is the moral discomfort at the heart of Evan’s story. The narrative requires the audience to sympathize with a protagonist whose lie causes pain as well as healing. While this complexity is part of what makes the musical impactful, I still wonder whether future adaptations might find a way to ease this discomfort, especially for younger audiences who may struggle to separate empathy from approval. If the script could evolve slightly, Dear Evan Hansen has the potential to become not just a contemporary success but a timeless legend in musical theater history.

Dear Evan Hansen presented one of the most vocally and emotionally demanding roles I have seen Park Kang-hyun undertake — and he surpassed every expectation. He was not merely acting. He became Evan Hansen. For me, as a listener and reviewer, this was not just a highlight of Park’s career. It was a reminder of why musical theater matters — to reflect our struggles, to move us to tears, and to let us believe that even imperfect people can find connection and redemption.