Sure, it bears the hallmarks of a Mann film. As usual, it's the story about men working through the greatest trials of their lives, making decisions that cut to the roots of professionalism and morality. Discarding the storyline, you could keep yourself intellectually involved solely in the camerawork and the film editing. Surrounded by ingenious collaborators, Mann goes for pure melodrama, underlining the proceedings with incongruously evocative music from Lisa Gerrard and Pieter Bourke of Dead Can Dance fame (film composer Graeme Revell contributes additional music). As melodrama, this is pretty great stuff. Scenes that need to be fraught with menace feel downright terrifying, as Mann turns the widescreen frame into something fearsome, full of night and shadow. At other times, he uses it to translate character relationships into visual terms. And the internalized drama of Crowe's Jeffrey Wigand, the former tobacco exec who feels that he finally has the chance to do something he'll feel good about at the end of the day, is conveyed with the force -- and showmanship -- of grand opera.

But the amped-up stylistics cut both ways, and too much of The Insider just feels glossed over. The story moves forward as quickly as any Mann opus, which keeps us absorbed but also necessitates quick resolutions to some mighty intractable problems. There's little room for equivocation -- conversations hurtle forward at a fever pitch and barbs are traded like gunshots. Pacino's hair-trigger presence as the 60 Minutes producer who convinces Wigand to go public with his insider knowledge only throws the film off-balance, guaranteeing that he'll dominate any scene that he participates in.

But in the moment, as the movie unspools, it's riveting and provocative, a thunderous screed about the power of corporate relationships to influence and impede free speech (which is often bankrolled by corporations). In dramatizing that conflict, Mann makes some very neat choices. For instance, when the liaison between CBS News and corporate affairs first lets the 60 Minutes staff know their segment is in jeopardy, it's clear that she's a symbol of everything that's wrong with the media establishment -- she's dolled up in paleface makeup and dark lipstick with her hair pulled back in a severe bun, like something out of kabuki theater. It's that kind of glib stylishness (and deck-stacking) that keeps The Insider from feeling altogether real, a mixed blessing when you're striving for as much import as Mann is chasing here. Frankly, I'd rather see him make another cop movie.