This compelling, original film, told from the perspective of a hen, was only made because Hungarian film-maker György Pálfi could no longer create anything in his home country. Orbán’s 16 years of cronyism banished any chance of funding a film in Budapest, so Pálfi was driven into exile. Searching for a universal story he could tell even when filming in a culture or country he didn’t fully understand, he and co-writer and partner Zsófia Ruttkay settled on a biopic of a factory-farmed chicken.

The hen escapes her gruesome, industrial birthplace in Greece and, through her naturally comic beady eyes, we witness the unfolding of a modern-day Greek tragedy, whereby a down-at-heel restaurateur is drawn into the brutal world of people-smuggling.

How Pálfi manages to pull this off is a cinematic mystery, but it probably has to do with his light tonal touch and his ability to truly empathise with his avian heroine without resorting to anthropomorphic sentimentalism. This hen acts much like a real chicken in that she combines shrewd survival instincts and utter gormlessness to a winning degree. For example, after surviving the Greek battery farm where she hatches (a wee black speck in a sea of yellow chicks), she manages to escape the clutches of a trucker who plans to make dinner out of her. Just when you think she has found safety, a fox (amazingly well trained, and apparently not CGI) starts stalking her, chasing her into a busy road where the chicken literally crosses the road with the blithe idiocy that makes chickens so adorable. The fox isn’t so lucky. Incidentally, the film does have a disclaimer at the end averring that no animals were harmed during the making of the movie, which is a relief.

The film is an amazing feat of animal training and deft editing, and it’s all so weirdly cheering.