Coffee House, Greenwich Village

The Manhattan Repertory Theatre's Winter One-Act Competition continues this weekend featuring, among others, "Coffee House, Greenwich Village" written by John Doble and directed by Olivia Harris.

Two nervous strangers are set to meet for a blind date, premeditated via an Internet dating site, those modern matchmaking means now ubiquitous as Greenwich Village coffee houses.

Jack, played with anxious appeal by the likeable Nicholas J. Pearson, arrives first, with flowers and sweaty brow, hopeful he will soon find a soul mate. Enter Pamela, played by Elizabeth Dilley, radiant as a young Bette Davis, but tentative here in her role as temptress.

The playwright has woven a web of dialogue in which the characters appear by turns to fiercely dominate and then submit to one another through light, impersonal small-talk. Pamela, in what at first seems like a bad joke by a jumpy girl on a first date, notes that women are like cats. "We're feline," she says. But as the story unfolds, we realize that men are not, in turn, canine: in Pamela's world, they're the mice.

Mr. Doble has constructed a story of Hitchcockian scope that in the one-act format feels rushed. He has endowed the role of Jack with a range of comedic and emotional depth for the actor, of which Mr. Pearson takes full advantage.

But the role of Pamela still seems to be a mystery to both Mr. Doble and Ms. Dilley. To be fair, she's a mysterious character. Still, I wish the actress had grounded herself more emphatically in Pamela's sexual energy, since the only concrete thing we know of her is that sex is, quite literally, her weapon.

Alex Engquist (handsome, underused) plays the small but pivotal role of waiter in the coffee house who inexplicably never delivers the second round of espressos the couple asks for.

What's exciting about the transaction between Jack and Pamela is how quickly fantasy can turn to cold, cruel reality. Also, the way their Internet hook-up plays out like so many others in the Village everyday: foreplay, climax, followed by a hurried goodbye.