Manoa Valley Theatre goes light with its current production, an 80-minute one-man show starring Greg Howell. "Fully Committed," by Becky Mode, follows the tribulations of a "reservationist" in the basement room of an exclusive French restaurant.

"Fully Committed" is simply snooty New York restaurant talk for being "full up."

Over the course of a single shift Sam, a struggling actor and all-around nice guy, must deal with irate callers and a temperamental staff, and try to resuscitate a failing career and a bleak social life.

The gimmick is that Howell plays all the parts, taking on the persona and dialogue of the unseen speaker and juggling dozens of roles like a ventriloquist on fast-forward. The audience accepts this convention immediately. Better, we soon forget that there is only one actor on the stage.

It's a reprise for Howell, who alternated in the role with Andrew Meader in 2002 at The ARTS at Marks Garage. (Meader will also repeat last year's "Santaland Diaries" at MVT early next month.)

Howell's role in "Fully Committed" requires nonstop energy and quick character reflexes. Juggling three phones and a laptop computer, he makes it look easy. Sound and light cues flash by in quick succession and Howell responds with instant changes of character.

There's a sensitive chef with a "Soup Nazi" temperament, a maitre d' with a Napoleonic complex and an exaggerated personal assistant to supermodel Naomi Campbell who insists on lower wattages in the wall sconces.

Mixed among the powerhungry, the social climbers and the type-A Manhattan diners are some regular people. Sam's father back in Indiana, recently widowed and hoping Sam will be able to have a day off on Christmas, Sam's brother (with an appropriately tinny Midwestern accent), and a sweet lady from out-of-town who simply can't fathom a three-month wait for a reservation.

Howell not only handles the technical demands of the role, he also works in character growth. That makes the play satisfying, in addition to being merely funny. Sam stumbles into the realization that he's not simply a guy on the lowest level of the food-chain pecking order — his ability to get someone a prestigious table gives him power.

After a low point where he is ordered to clean up a restroom disaster, Sam learns that a woman with "a face like a dog" is friends with an official at Lincoln Center, where Sam is auditioning for a part.

An audience easily roots for the hero in this kind of transforming Cinderella story.

And while the script may be limited in its scope, MVT hasn't stinted on creating the appropriate stage picture. Karen Archibald has designed a cramped and dingy basement, complete with strings of shorted-out colored lights that craftily underscores the character's basic optimism.