Producing Dear Evan Hansen? Don't Forget Neurodivergent Voices

For years, there has been a conversation within the theatre community about Evan Hansen and autism. Officially, Evan is not written as an autistic character. The writers have never given him an autism diagnosis, and that is an important distinction to make. Yet for many autistic and neurodivergent people, Evan's experiences feel deeply familiar.

• His social anxiety.

• His difficulty connecting with others.

• His overthinking.

• His struggles with communication.

• His desire to belong.

Whether intentional or not, many members of the autistic community have seen parts of themselves reflected in Evan's story. They have embraced the character because they recognise experiences that are rarely explored on stage with such honesty and vulnerability.

I am autistic & watching Evan's journey took me back to my own teenage years. Years spent trying to understand where I fitted in, how friendships worked, and why connecting with people seemed so much easier for everyone else than it did for me.

That is why I think there is an important conversation to be had about neurodivergent inclusion when producing Dear Evan Hansen.

This is not about arguing that Evan is autistic & it is not about diagnosing a fictional character. It is about recognising that many neurodivergent people see themselves reflected in this story and when a community connects so strongly with a piece of theatre, I think their voices deserve to be part of the conversation around how that story is told.

As a disabled & neurodiverse theatre maker, I often find myself asking the same question whenever a production centres experiences that resonate with a particular community.

Who is in the room? | Who is helping shape the work? | Who is being listened to? | Who is being given opportunities?

Because inclusion should never begin and end with the audience's interpretation of a character. It should extend into the rehearsal room, the creative team, and the wider production process. Too often, neurodivergent people are left out of those conversations. Or worse, assumptions are made on our behalf. One neurodivergent person is consulted, and suddenly their experience becomes the blueprint for everyone else. But neurodiversity is exactly that. Diverse.

One autistic performer may have different needs from another autistic performer. Someone with ADHD may work differently from someone with dyslexia. Someone who is both autistic and ADHD may have completely different experiences again. There is no single neurodivergent experience. Which is why inclusion starts with listening. Not assuming. Not guessing. But, listening.

If theatre companies are considering producing Dear Evan Hansen, I would encourage them to think beyond casting and choreography. Think about who is involved in the conversations. Think about whether neurodivergent creatives are being represented within the team. Think about whether rehearsal processes are flexible enough to support different ways of working. Think about whether people feel comfortable communicating their needs. Sometimes inclusion is not about huge changes. Sometimes it is as simple as asking someone what helps them do their best work and then genuinely listening to the answer.

The truth is that neurodivergent people have always been part of theatre. We are performers, directors, writers, musicians, designers, producers, technicians, and audience members. Our perspectives & experiences have value. When stories resonate so deeply with neurodivergent communities, I believe those perspectives can only make productions richer, more authentic, and more thoughtful.

For me, Dear Evan Hansen was never about seeing an autistic label attached to a character. It was about seeing feelings I recognised. Feelings I carried throughout much of my adolescence. Feelings that reminded me I was not the only person who had ever struggled to find where I belonged. That is why this conversation matters, not because we need to define Evan Hansen, but because we should always strive to include the people who see themselves in the stories we choose to tell.