Sebastian Barry's new play is a traffic jam of notions. It springs from the protracted visit Hans Christian Andersen made to Charles Dickens in 1857; it evokes the selfish blindness of bleeding-heart geniuses and looks at what it is to be an outsider; Max Stafford-Clark's direction piles peculiarity upon callousness. Dickens, dallying with more than one woman, was about to separate his wife from her children: David Rintoul gives him bluffness and a beard like an erection. Danny Sapani's Andersen blunders around talking gobbledegook and failing to notice any marital tension. Dickens's younger children are played by puppets, so there are some blank faces at the dinner table. Lisa Kerr's Irish maid is lively and Niamh Cusack's Mrs Dickens is lambent, but the insights are fewer than the possibilities floated.