The only genuine connection in the film is between men and between Hanna and McCauley in particular. As impressive and viscerally stirring as Mann's major set pieces might be, the film's true poetry is in the faces of these actors. As aesthetic objects alone, they are virtually unmatched on the screen, and Mann's camera caresses every exquisite inch. In one beautifully directed scene, Hanna offers to buy his startled adversary a cup of coffee, and sitting there across from one another in a restaurant, they acknowledge in that special nonverbal Morse code of the warrior that they are the same, outsiders, bound to each other by the bonds of crime and punishment. Everything else disappears.
Life is simple.
What these actors do, however, is magnetic and not in the least simple. They're heavy, these guys. Of the two, Pacino is more florid and animated. He loves to talk, and the words tumble out in a wired rush. De Niro is focused, watchful, deeply cautious.