The writer of and sole actor in “I Love You So Much I Could Die,” Mona Pirnot, walks onstage from the back of the theater with no advance warning or fanfare — that is to say, as conspicuously as possible. A slim young woman with long, strawberry blonde hair, she sits at a table with her back to the audience, facing a computer, with a guitar perched beside her.

In the 65-minute piece that follows, Ms. Pirnot, who is also a musician and songwriter, will sing — in the kind of pleasant but unextraordinary voice you might expect to hear during an amateur showcase at a coffee house — and the only speaking voice we’ll hear, confusingly at first, is generated by the computer; it’s distinctly male, with the flat affect characteristic of text-to-speech tools.

That voice will seem ironic and at times bleakly funny as the play takes us on a deeply personal but ultimately less than satisfying journey, encompassing psychological strife, family tragedy, and, yes, love. The production’s director is Ms. Pirnot’s husband, the celebrated playwright Lucas Hnath; while his name is never mentioned, he is integral to the bittersweet story being told.

In previous efforts as both a writer and director, Mr. Hnath has himself used simple technology to enhance emotional intensity. Here he is abetted by Mimi Lien, whose stark set includes only the previously mentioned objects, along with a table, a lamp, and speakers. Mikhail Fiksel and Noel Nichols’s sound design is similarly spare, so that the staging has the feel of a quiet acoustic concert — albeit one in which the performer never faces us.

Oona Curley’s lighting proves especially key: For a considerable length of time, the audience remains lit, as if we are meant to be a silent partner in conversation rather than just observers and listeners of an extended monologue. The effect is, one suspects, intentionally discomforting, as Ms. Pirnot’s robotic interpreter offers detailed accounts of her struggles to overcome crippling despair.

There’s dry humor as well, much of it stemming from Ms. Pirnot’s adventures in self-help and self-improvement. After seeking out several support groups to little avail, we learn, she tried volunteering for God’s Love We Deliver, a service that brings free meals to the ailing, and found herself at the Michael Kors Building, being directed to the Anna Wintour Volunteer Center. A fellow volunteer tells Ms. Pirnot that if she had known the center was named after the longtime Vogue editor — who, whatever her philanthropic pursuits, is not widely associated with either love or charity — “she’d have dressed better.”

The lights begin to dim ever so slightly, though you may be too absorbed to notice until they’ve been lowered further. In its more sober moments, unfortunately, the writing and staging can drift into the soporific from the hypnotic. Good and bad things happen in Ms. Pirnot’s story, but her deliberately impersonal approach and capacity for navel-gazing can make at least some of them less compelling for an audience than they clearly were in her experience. 

When a love interest, the unnamed Mr. Hnath, enters the picture, the text becomes more strained, bordering on cuteness. There’s a long passage in which the computer-generated voice breathlessly describes a courtship challenged by distance and unfortunate events, and the segment seems at once melodramatic and a little sloppy.

My favorite part of “I Love You So Much I Could Die” arrives toward the end, and involves a story about a beloved dog. Admittedly, I am a sucker for dog stories, but this one proves an especially good vehicle for Ms. Pirnot’s understated tenderness, and it’s followed by the show’s most intriguing song. Sadly, in this exercise in rather mannered minimalism, it proves too little, too late.