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Elizabeth Sloane is your typical ball-breaking lobbyist, which is an actual job in America… though, thankfully, not literally.

Sloane gets paid lots of money by rich, noble and entirely selfless organisations to argue that black is white in and out of political circles.

And in Miss Sloane’s latest case, that means arguing guns don’t kill people.

God bless America.

Now Sloane is the best in the business, which is why the national rifle association approach her to try and make guns sexy for women.

Having literally laughed their approach out of her office, Sloane locates her moral compass when she’s approached by their opponents who want her to lead their campaign for tighter restrictions on gun control, and leaves her well paid corporate job behind.

So far, so Jerry Maguire.

Class is now in session for Miss Sloane though, and she’s about to teach big business a lesson they won’t forget.

Now, Miss Sloane should be a good film – it’s got a worthy subject matter, a brilliant actor and supporting cast and all of the so called ‘liberal’ media to help promote its precious snowflake shaped message.

And yet, there’s something missing – what the French would call ‘I don’t know what’.

The first hour’s compelling enough, and some of the monologues Chastain’s character comes out with would even put a smile on dialogue king Aaron Sorkin.

But as the second act gives way to the third, Miss Sloane not only jumps the shark but circles back for another run just in case anyone missed it the first time around.

Without giving too much away, that nra sponsored ‘good guy with a gun’ soundbite Josef Goebbels would have been proud is brought to life in ridiculously convenient scenario.

Even then, the aftermath of this act could play out either way – pro or anti gun regulation.

Not for director John Madden though, who ignores any ambiguity this scene presents in the name of kettling Miss Sloane towards its grandstand finale.

It was at this point that I stopped believing in the reality this film had created, and started wondering about my own reality – namely, what I could get to eat afterwards.

As with most every film I’ve seen her in, Jessica Chastain is easily the best thing in Miss Sloane – grabbing your attention at the start and refusing to let go even when its wonky script does.

Alas, Miss Sloane still ends up feeling like less than the sum of its considerable parts.

Which is not something that could be said about Miss Chastain… how long is 500 metres again?

Jonathan Campbell