Brian Degan Scott as Mr. Bobo shows off his mouse circus to Coraline. Photo by Jessica Palopoli. Courtesy of SF Playhouse.

A master songsmith teams up with a celebrated thespian to create a musical adaptation of an award-winning horror novella. Sound exciting? It could have been. But what should’ve been a match made in heaven between Neil Gaiman’s original story and Stephin Merritt’s songs lacked the best qualities of both artists in Coraline, the musical that is currently having its West Coast premiere at the SF Playhouse.

Young Coraline has just moved into a new house with her Mother and Father. Bored and restless, she explores the house, its surroundings and its inhabitants, until she discovers “a big, carved, wooden door at the far end of the drawing room.” On the other side is a wonderlandish copy of her own world, inhabited by her doting Other Mother and Other Father, who give her everything her boring real-life parents don’t seem to have the time for. But all is not as rosy as it seems, and with the help of her neighbors and a sometimes-talking Cat, Coraline must escape the clutches of the Other Mother and the world she has created in order to ensare Coraline forever.

Anyone who’s ever listened to any of Stephin Merritt’s work as the mastermind behind indie rock bands The Magnetic Fields or the 6ths knows that his songs all about wit and dryly clever stories. Neither of those qualities could shine in Coraline when his songs were being used purely to forward the very simple plot. Other songs, like “When We Were Young And Trod The Boards,” have the opposite problem, telling curious, self-contained stories that didn’t make sense in the context of the plot. There are little flashes of real Merritt — the prepared piano as played by music director Robert Moreno, a song in which Coraline proclaims that she wants “a pair of fluorescent green gloves/it is a color that nobody loves!” But those moments are lost in the oversimplification of Merritt’s signature style. Were the songs allowed to stand on their own while nudging the plot forward just enough, the musical might not be so uneven, as was often the complaint in the lukewarm reviews of the original production off-Broadway in New York.

Despite the lackluster source material, there is still much to be admired about the production itself. Director Bill English was smart to cast a charming 12-year-old, Maya Donato, as Coraline, the story’s young heroine, where the original off-Broadway production cast 55-year-old Jayne Houdyshell. The black-and-white design of the show included just the right amount of whimsy and creepy, from Matt Vuolo and English’s set chock full of hidden compartments to Valera Coble’s button-eye glasses, worn by all the eerie denizens of the otherworld Coraline discovers on the other side of a door in her front room.

The performances, too, are strong throughout. Brian Yates Sharber’s lush voice and sassy attitude as the Cat made this reviewer look forward to his being onstage. And Stacy Ross, playing Coraline’s real mom and her frightening, fantastical Other Mother, was one of the best parts of the show, thanks to her strong, angular physicality and excellent comic timing.

But Ross’ comic timing feels odd in a story that should have gotten its strength from its scariness. Neil Gaiman is the master of making the macabre appealing to kids — no matter how young you are, you can become engrossed in a Gaiman tale that scares the pants off of you. But there is nothing truly bone-chilling in this adaptation of one of Gaiman’s most popular books, which was made into a stop-motion film in 2009. Christopher W. Wright’s puppets came close, especially the giant hand of the Other Mother that tracks Coraline back to the real world towards the end of the play. But the fear still feels like an after-thought. And when a clever lyric or line does elicit a chuckle from the audience, it feels as though we are laughing when we should be terrified.

— Coraline. Book by David Greenspan, Music and Lyrics by Stephen Merritt. Based on the novel by Neil Gaiman. Directed by Bill English. At the SF Playhouse (533 Sutter Street) through January 15. Tickets from $30.