Do you remember what it’s like to be 17 and in high school? I recall dreading certain classes, avoiding specific hallways, and many days wishing I didn’t have to go. I loved to learn but was secretly afraid of my teachers and other students. Worst of all, I was afraid of saying something stupid and being revealed as the idiot I no doubt was. 

In the late 1970s, only a handful of people — mostly remarkable parents, teachers, and social workers — were much concerned about whether students were “nervous” or “high strung.” With high school (and, of course, middle school), being stressed out just came with the territory, an expected downside of being a teenager. 

Since then, awareness and acceptance of anxiety and other mental health issues as concerns to be treated rather than as personal failures has become more common —  although stigma remains, and signs indicate that progress may be reversing in the current political environment. 

Art that normalizes and examines mental health helps us empathize, learn, and identify parts of ourselves that could warrant reconsideration. 

“Dear Evan Hansen” is that kind of art. Through June 13, Roxy’s Downtown is staging the first locally produced run of this thoughtful 2015 musical, which debuted in Washington D.C. before proceeding to off-Broadway, then to Broadway in 2016.

The production is deeply moving. Let’s just say that while I waved away the tissue box our server offered me at intermission, I regretted it later.

The world director Rick Bumgardner creates here is populated with genuine human beings, endowed with real-life charms and faults by Steven Levenson, who wrote the musical’s book, and Benj Pasek and Justin Paul, who crafted the music and lyrics. The actors bring those people to life for us — to feel shame for, to be confused by, to root for regardless of their foibles. Just like us, they want to do the right thing, but they also want to be loved, to believe everything is all right — and sometimes those things conflict with each other. 

Xavier Huffman embraces the demanding role of Evan, who in spite of a caring heart suffers from extreme social anxiety and crippling loneliness. His expressive singing voice helps us understand Evan’s longing and intense need to be seen, tentative one minute, crying out for attention another, a torn soul for whom each day brings worry and shame, best expressed in the aching song “Words Fail.” 

It is impossible to imagine the role of Evan, or the very show itself, being a success unless the actor playing him can convincingly win our hearts, in spite of his terrible choices. A young friend who saw the show said the realistic way he physically expressed Evan was triggering to her — and she meant that as a sincere compliment. I am definitely on Evan’s team, too. He is up against a lot, and Huffman lets us see that. The social media rabbit hole he tumbles down is a spoiler, so I’ll keep that to myself.

Evan’s mother, Heidi (Jenny Mitchell), has her hands full. First there’s Evan, whom she adores, but who is a constant source of concern. It is truly a “just the two of them against the world” situation, and Heidi is frequently forced to leave Evan alone while she works at the hospital. Mitchell is the epitome of a caring mother, infusing Heidi with humor, understanding, and disappointment. The memory of her performance of “So Big/So Small” brings tears to my eyes as I type.

Hunter Bartholomew is sharp as Connor Murphy, a taunting presence who haunts Evan. Nick Albrecht’s performance as Connor’s father, Larry, is utterly heartfelt, notably when he teaches Evan how “To Break in a Glove.” Hayley Loya as Connor’s sister, Zoe, has her own trauma with which to contend, and Loya’s Zoe grows from a place of her own seclusion, breaking free from suspicion with a duet she beautifully shares with Evan: “Only Us.”

Cynthia Murphy (Kirsten Witsman) is deluded on a number of levels, admitting her cluelessness along with Heidi in the witty, “Anybody Have a Map?” Her strong voice shines in the group number, “Requiem.” Olivia Hill as an upbeat Alana Beck and Lorenz Looney as the opportunistic Jared Kleinman lend their robust singing and dancing skills to this strong company. 

The gentle yet powerful (and challenging) songs by Pasek and Paul are at turns funny, sweet, poignant, and agonizing. Led by music director Simon Hill on piano, the exceptional eight-piece orchestra features Megan Bollig and Adrian Torres on guitar, Darin Lee on stand-up bass and bass guitar, Anthony Gropper on drums, and string players violist Danny Ibarra, violinist Addison Wegerle, and cellist Amanda Wen.

The set by J Branson features an onslaught of projections that reminds us that social media is always right in our faces, like it or not. Sound is by Brad Thomison, lighting by Jason Huffman, properties by Tracy Ciambra, and costumes by Kálon Kirk. Mitchell choreographed.

It's been 11 years since the premiere of "DEAR EVAN HANSEN." Since then, members of the U.S. Congress have proposed more than 500 pieces of legislation to regulate social media. In spite of passionate testimony of parents who say their children suffered or died because of social media, Congress has yet to pass comprehensive regulation of these platforms. (The COVID-19 pandemic did not help matters, as it forced countless young people into isolation and online at an age when building social skills is essential.)

Two bipartisan bills aimed at protecting minors have advanced: the Kids Online Safety Act and the Kids Off Social Media Act. These recommend a number of limitations and tools such as algorithmic bans, age restrictions, increased parental controls, and limitation of design elements that encourage addictive behavior. 

While there is no guarantee that they will meaningfully eliminate the emotional distress associated with social media, it would be a hell of a good place to start. 

The Details

Roxy’s Downtown presents “Dear Evan Hansen”
May 8-June 13, 2026, at Roxy’s, 412 1/2 E. Douglas Ave. in Wichita

Performances take place at 7:30 p.m. Thursday and Friday and 2 p.m. and 7:30 p.m. Saturdays. 

Reserved tickets are $42.

Designated floor seats are available for people with physical disabilities. Audience members who cannot navigate the stairs to the public restrooms may use the restroom located backstage.

Learn more and purchase tickets. 

Teri Mott is a writer and actor in Wichita, Kansas, where she covers the arts as a critic and feature writer. She is co-founder of The SHOUT.

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