The sole characters in Mario Correa’s “N/A” are two women who are never identified by name, but anyone who hasn’t spent the past decade living under a rock will immediately recognize both. The younger one appears first, an attractive, ponytailed Latina rocking bright red lipstick and a smart black pantsuit as she speaks breathlessly into her phone. She is, we will soon learn, the youngest female politician ever elected to Congress.

The older character, a fellow Democrat, sports a hot pink dress suit and exudes a dry, no-nonsense air. She’s the minority leader of the Republican-controlled House of Representatives, having previously made history both as the first woman to hold such a position in either party or chamber and the first to become speaker of the House — a role she will regain, and then lose again, before the one-act, 80-minute play has run its course.

Set mostly inside Nancy Pelosi’s office — she’s the titular “N,” of course, though the letter isn’t used either — “N/A” begins as “A,” who would naturally be Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, has been elected to the House, and ends just after Ms. Pelosi relinquishes leadership of her party, in the wake of its narrow loss in the 2022 midterm elections. What transpires in between can seem rather obvious, and not just because the events covered here have already been dissected ad nauseam by the press.

Mr. Correa, who served as an aide to a Maryland congresswoman, Constance A. Morella — his previous plays include the critically acclaimed “Tail! Spin!,” a comedy inspired by texts and tweets that brought down male politicians in the not-too-distant past — is a witty and resourceful writer. And the premise of watching a pair of celebrated and controversial figures engage in private conversation, as opposed to preaching their gospel on, say, NPR, or “The Rachel Maddow Show,” is intriguing. 

Unfortunately, the dialogue in “N/A” — essentially a series of debates, sprinkled with moments of commiseration and resolving, predictably, in mutual admiration and respect — can feel more canned than candid. Rather than humanize its heroines, the play sets each up as a rather romantic archetype: A is the brilliant, feisty idealist, railing against the establishment; N is the pragmatic, long-suffering but stoic elder statesperson. 

“I don’t believe in luck. I believe in doing the work,” N tells her younger colleague early on, adding, “The only thing that matters is results.” N will later advise A, not once but twice, that “the end of every fight is the beginning of the next” — a pearl of wisdom that seems lifted straight out of a campaign speech, possibly one of Ms. Pelosi’s own, for all I know.

Playing N, the redoubtable Holland Taylor manages to make such boilerplate lines sing, or at least keeps them from sinking. Mr. Correa, to his credit, provides her with some tangier material: “This isn’t college,” she at one point reminds A — a worthy foil, in Ana Villafañe’s crisp, spunky performance. “I’m not Plato, you’re not Aristotle, and we’re not here to contemplate the Republic.” 

When conversation turns, inevitably, to the man N calls “this calamity of a ‘President’” — Donald Trump, who is invoked several times, though never by name — A, who can also speak in sound bites, tells N, “You can’t cure cancer with a band-aid.” N responds, drily, “Don’t look up — it’s a metaphor shower.”

Generational differences between the women are evoked, and since this is 2024, so is “privilege”; that word comes up nine times, with A, portrayed here as a glamorous egghead — beauty and brains, the whole package — taking N to task for hers as a white woman and congressman’s daughter. N counters that intelligence, youth, and good looks are also privileges, and brings up her own struggles as a mother of five children who, back in the ’80s, had to petition with a handful of fellow female colleagues to get a women’s bathroom.

And on it goes, with exchanges taking us through charged periods from Ms. Pelosi’s battle in 2018 to retain her gavel to the riots of January 6, 2021, and their aftermath. Director Diane Paulus sustains a brisk pace, and projection design by the collective POSSIBLE and Lisa Renkel give the transitions a sleek, contemporary vibe. 

As the standing ovation that greeted a recent preview confirmed, “N/A” will prove catnip to a certain audience, particularly during an election season. Those of us who are more loath to idolize, or idealize, politicians — Democrats, Republicans, or members of any other party that courts money, power, and popularity in the name of public service — will be entertained, but less enchanted.