Although better known as an actor than as a director, Derrah proves adept, presenting a thoroughly professional approximation of an amateur theatrical in which panic is less often caused by a slavering, supersized, unseen hound than by the sense that anything may happen as one actor is spooked by backstage malfeasance and the other two cling to the adage that the show must go on. The audience is even brought into the conflict as, after intermission, an alleged missive from Row J, to the effect that the troupe's adaptation is too "convoluted" to be comprehensible, leads to a racing recapitulation of act one. ("Are you satisfied now, Mr. Roget?", snarls Airaldi in its aftermath.)
Lithe and natural clown Airaldi is in his element, whether presenting his waspish anti–Basil Rathbone of a conceited detective, swanning around as the overwrought Peruvian damsel, or radiating suspiciousness as a squat, nervous Abe Lincoln of a servant and his hysterical wife. And Mootos, as a blithely dense, trigger-happy Watson, and Mills, as the Canadian-by-way-of-Texas heir, provide fleet, amiable support. So if giggles are as good to you as goosebumps, Central Square's Hound is worth a walk. Just don't let it slip on a banana peel.
, Stephen Sondheim, Sherlock Holmes, John Nicholson, More