The calculation is fairly obvious: you’re doing a film about Margaret Thatcher, a huge figure, so you need an actress who can deliver on that scale. The imperious Meryl Streep seems like an apt choice. When she talks, men listen, and she has always excelled at portraying women who know their own worth. Who better, then, to take on Britain’s most divisive post-war prime minister, a woman who remodelled the political landscape and was both lionised and reviled for doing so?

Much as you can argue the case for Streep, it’s a casting decision that brings its own problems. We expect a biopic of Maggie, but what we get is a showcase for Streep’s impersonation of her. It’s an impersonation startling in its bravura technique (and doubtless bound for awards season garlands), yet it essentially boils down to Streep doing another of her amazing turns. Yes, there’s some acting to admire here, and you have to give the whole production credit for having the balls to take this on in the first place, yet the lack of a clear controlling vision deprives the drama of genuine cumulative impact.

Streep’s Mrs T is at various times an ambitious Tory firebrand, a leader who makes tough decisions, an aloof egomaniac, a doddery old dear. The film is often for, sometimes against, ultimately a bit wishy-washy. Certainly, it’s worth seeing and arguing over, but our personal take on Thatcher remains unchanged, Streep’s virtuoso ministrations notwithstanding.