TWO CHARACTERS IN SEARCH OF AN AUTHOR

An aging, reclusive movie star strikes up a relationship with a struggling writer. It may sound familiar but this isn’t Sunset Boulevard, more’s the pity. The star in question is screen legend Ava Gardner, who, in the late 1980s, contracted British journalist Peter Evans to ghostwrite her autobiography. The conversations between them, as documented in his posthumously published book, form the basis for the identically titled AVA: The Secret Conversations, now being performed in the Studebaker Theatre, its old-world charm and beauty making it a perfect setting for the production.

Elizabeth McGovern (so wonderful in Ragtime, so tiresome in Downton Abbey, with my favorite performance being a gem of a supporting turn in Shock to the System) pulls double duty here, adapting the book for the stage as well as embodying the titular role. The play opens with Peter Evans in front of a series of opaque screens, which eventually slide open to reveal David Meyer’s handsome set, depicting Ava’s lavishly decorated apartment—as befits a movie star. This is definitely not a production where any expense has been spared on the technicals, but all the embellishments, fancy lighting (Amith Chandrashekhar) and elegant projections (Alex Basco Koch) cannot compensate for the fundamental problems with the script.

After a few icy minutes in their first in-person conversation, Ava erupts in a shrill monologue about how she doesn’t want her autobiography to be about the famous men that she’s fucked—Mickey Rooney, Artie Shaw, Frank Sinatra, Howard Hughes; this then leads into the meat of the play which is structured into sections, one for each of the famous men she’s fucked. I want to say that the show wants to have its cake and eat it too, but I’m not sure that the cake was ever fit for consumption. Throughout the show, I kept wondering at the reason for its existence. It tells us nothing about Ava Gardner, focusing almost entirely on the salacious details of her relationships.

The structure is identical for each section: Ava and Peter roleplay each relationship’s beginning, a bit of the middle, and the end. Ava relishes revealing the details about the sex at the beginning and walks it all back at the end. The unfortunate result is that the show inadvertently winds up slut-shaming Gardner, albeit indirectly (the section with Artie Shaw is especially nasty). McGovern’s performance, while mostly decent, save her cringey turn as teenage Ava, is hampered by the repetitiveness of the script. The character is static, which makes her “triumphant” last stride down a red carpet—again, shades of Sunset Boulevard—ring hollow. It’s like they had no idea how to end. Multiple Tony-nominee Moritz von Stuelpnagel (Present Laughter, Hand of God) directs the hell out of this but there’s only so much you can do with a show that even at just 85 minutes, feels excessively padded. The less said about the introduction of romantic feelings into the proceedings, the better.

As Peter Evans, Aaron Costa Ganis has a lot more fun; he also has the better part. Dripping with charm and a surfeit of dimples, he shape-shifts his way through the different characters with ease. I particularly liked his swagger as Sinatra, channeling the attitude rather than doing an imitation.

The assumption is that this is supposed to be a showcase for McGovern but it winds up being the Aaron Costa Ganis Show because, at least as written, Peter Evans is a far more interesting character than Ava Gardner; he’s the one who grows and develops through the show, and that’s without the showy impersonations and the rendition of “I’ve Got You Under My Skin” that Mr. Ganis gets to play with (or is it lip-syncing? I couldn’t tell).

It’s a shame because there’s good stuff buried here. Ava’s reasons for writing the memoir are far more interesting–-she’s near bankruptcy because of her medical expenses. What could be timelier than the absurdity of a Hollywood legend being brought to earth by something as plebeian as healthcare costs?

And then there’s McGovern herself: you can be an actor nominated for an Oscar, Emmy and SAG award, star in a wildly popular television show and series of movies (the final Downton movie comes out this year), but if you’re a woman past a certain age and you need a role worthy of your talent, the odds are you’re going to have to write it yourself.

But none of that is as titillating as talking about Frank Sinatra’s dick.

photos by Jeff Lorch

AVA: The Secret Conversations
Studebaker Theater at the Fine Arts Building, 410 S Michigan Ave.
85 minutes, no intermission
Tues-Sat at 7; Wed, Sat & Sun at 2 (check for dark dates)
ends on October 12, 2025
for tickets ($30-$170), visit Ava Gardner Play

for more shows, visit Theatre in Chicago

Studebaker Theater