Chicken @ Summerhall

In the opening moments of Chicken, Eva O’Connor does not break a wide-eyed stare with each of her audience members as she slowly and deliberately clucks her way around the room. But, as she quickly reassures us, this 60-minute, one-woman show is not an hour of unadulterated, silent performance art (“Can you imagine?” she laughs, mockingly).

On the surface, Chicken recounts the story of a fame-hungry Kerryman/bird, Don, on a meteoric ascent to fame and fortune. His resolve to pursue a cinematic career in the big smoke is complicated by a raging ketamine addiction and the politics of an industry seemingly hell-bent on exploiting its talent – “It’s enough to make you go on strike," O’Connor quips. Peppered with hilarious observations and brilliant one-liners from Pablo the Glaswegian pigeon in particular, Chicken allows O'Connor to showcase a masterful command of her craft. She is not afraid to lean into the ridiculous: she relishes in exaggerated prances and displays of plumage. Yet for all of Chicken’s comedic charm, O’Connor’s writing never loses its quiet resolve, staying as sharp as a wishbone, with just the same potential to catch in the throat.

From British appropriation of Irish BAFTA winners to the violence of the global meat industry, oppressive power structures are omnipresent throughout, whirring like conveyor belts in the background. We can only turn a blind eye until they become inescapable, O’Connor seems to suggest. But when bodies and lives are on the line, as the planet burns and those who can take flight in acts of terrible betrayal, an age-old adage about a chicken crossing the road comes to mind. The question is whether the truth may be too overwhelming – too unpalatable a prospect – to fully digest in time.

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Chicken, Summerhall (Former Womens Locker Room), until 27 Aug (not 14, 21), 8.50pm, £13-15