In 2014, Saturday Night Live debuted “High School Theater Show,” a sketch that recurred four times until 2016. The sketch usually revolved around a high school theater troupe staging a Black-Box show, the message of which is delivered with such grandiosity through countless inscrutable vagueries that the audience becomes hard-pressed to find the point.

When Christopher Boone, the main character of the Tony Award-winning play “The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time,” keels over in panic as the ensemble breathes in sync with him and shuffles minimalist boxes around the neon-lit stage, one can’t help but wish they were watching “High School Theatre Show” instead. At least that sketch is in on the joke.

Instead, this San Francisco Playhouse production settles for a self-serious tone that wars with blunt staging and its cast’s atonal performance styles. One could argue that these immature executions of an often compelling script are innovative representations of what the mind of a teen, Christopher’s, feels like. Yet, that doesn’t make sense given how often it’s drilled into our brains that Christopher, an autistic teenager, is presented as a genius whose mind seems to break all boundaries of “what we know,” only playing into the harmful and regressive savant stereotype applied to autistic characters.

The play revolves around Christopher, who discovers the body of Wellington, a dog with a garden fork through him. Boone’s distress over Wellington’s death motivates him to deduce who killed the poor animal, which leads him down a road that will unravel his personal life and reveal unimaginable secrets about his family.

For a young adult novel, like Mark Haddon’s 2003 novel that Simon Stephens adapted for the stage in 2012, this plot is quaint and cute. For a play, it’s troublesome. Director Susi Damilano’s production strips away many design elements from the original production from just over a decade ago and opts for LED-laden archways and small black stools for set design, but retains the distracting projections. These choices should foreground the performances and themes of the show, but end up overwhelming the show while overelaborate gimmicks completely strike the wrong chord. 

The most jarring gimmick is the show’s movement choreography. As the show opens, its ensemble walks through the harshly lit archways and executes a synchronized routine that unfortunately evokes SNL’s troupe. These interstitials plague the runtime as parts of the ensemble keep returning as Christopher’s inner struggle. One key emotional moment where he discovers something about his past is entirely deflated by the sheer silliness and miscalculated gravitas of the choreography surrounding it.

Themes and performances, overshadowed by the production, don’t stand too tall even when unencumbered by neon-soaked and highly choreographed business. The standout, thankfully, is Brendan Looney, the show’s lead performer. Looney, who is also autistic, tackles the role with animated electricity and makes meals out of his character’s arcs in moments large and small. It’s a shame that the rest of the cast doesn’t match his energy, often operating in oppugnant styles at inopportune times. One emotionally climactic moment between Christopher and his family comes off as near-parodical because the performers are not on the same page.

For all of Looney’s efforts, Christopher still feels like a character from ages past. As a character with autism, Stephens attributes him countless special capabilities, such as being a math whiz with a penchant for prime numbers, that neurotypical people are often amazed at and by, as they treat him so cautiously, it comes off as infantilizing. Yet, this is rarely addressed as such.

There is almost an interesting point being made near the end of the show about the agency we give or rob teenagers of, especially those with autism. However, the moment the show tiptoes to profundity, it opts for a too-neat conclusion, including a canine cop out. Writing this regressive serves the show poorly, most sourly during its flashy and overactive ending that all but begs an audience for cheers of support, lest we not get swept up in the mandated feel-good vibes. 

Stories like “The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time,” ones with big hearts and good intentions with plenty of energy verging on temerity to back it up, often work. They can hit just the right spot and tug at just the right heartstrings. However, the line between sweet and saccharine is razor thin, and this show does walk that line, no matter how many synchronized movements it throws at the stage. 

“The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time” is now running at SF Playhouse through June 21.