Most everyone who decides to see "Tuesdays with Morrie" will already be aware that the play is based on discussions between a man and his former teacher, who is dying. The book by Mitch Albom was a best-seller, made into a movie, and adapted for the stage by its author and Jeffrey Hatcher.

But it's worthwhile to note that, like the original book, the stage play is never depressing. Instead, it's warmly sentimental and often humorous. If there are any tears, they authenticate its humanity.

After all, the lesson that Morrie teaches Mitch is that "if you learn how to die, you also learn how to live." It's an important, direct message that plays well in the intimacy offered by Manoa Valley Theatre, and director Lolly Susi resists any effort to make it a "big" production. At all times it's a genuine and personal transaction between two men that we are allowed to watch.

Mike Scott Robertson plays Mitch with an eager, boyish quality that dominates the 40-year-old sports writer he has become. After losing touch with his mentor after college, they connect again via accident and whim. But the play also suggests that Fate brings the student back for his teacher's final lesson.

Greg Howell plays Morrie, the unpredictable sociology professor, with a heavy dose of "Fiddler on the Roof" that extends beyond his attempts at dancing. Morrie sees the world through a heavy film of irony, yet connects directly and honestly with a favored student and lives out his last weeks by teaching.

They meet on Tuesdays, with a growing awareness that their time together satisfies a powerful need for each.

There is a good deal of pathos, as Mitch recognizes that the old need as much touching and handling as they exit life as babies need as they enter it. And saying "I love you" is as necessary as feeling it.

But there is humor as well, "I used to be an agnostic. Now, I'm not so sure."

The play runs gently through one act in under 90 minutes.

It is well-supported by Benjamin MacKrell's deceptively simple set — a grey wall in which sliding doors and turntable shelves are almost invisible. But almost imperceptibly, props begin to pile up. By the end of the play, the stage is a history of Morrie's decline as his walker, wheelchair and recliner remind us of his downward trajectory.

"Tuesdays with Morrie" lacks the scope and depth to be a monumental work, but it strikes an undeniably human chord that resonates as a lasting testament to the man who inspired it.