88 Minutes

Forget about 88 Minutes. I should have walked out after 8 minutes.

Set in Seattle, Pacino stars as FBI Forensic Psychologist Dr. Jack Gramm - a man famous for providing the testimony and analysis necessary to convince a jury to find Jon Forster (Neal McDonough) guilty of a heinous, high profile crime, even though all of the evidence was circumstantial. Now, one of his students has been murdered in a similar fashion, which leads Jack to believe this is all a plan to raise enough suspicion to halt Forster’s impending execution. However, there is yet another twist.

When Jack receives a menacing phone call informing him he will be killed in 88 minutes, will the FBI Forensic Psychologist be able to find the person who wants him dead?

Is it Forster behind it all, or someone close to Jack?

Who killed Jack’s student?

88 Minutes just plain stinks. Sadly, it’s hard to find anything redeemable about the movie. Writer Gary Scott Thompson provides horrible dialogue trying much too hard to sound smarter than it really is, especially early on, when Forster’s defense attorney makes some of the most insane objections ever heard in movies, let alone a courtroom, in an attempt to be Shakespearean instead of saving her client’s butt from getting executed. Dialogue like this appears throughout the movie and elicits laughter from the audience, which should be getting more tense as the action picks up, instead of laughing harder than they would at a Jerry Seinfeld stand up routine (and he’s funny!).

Then, Thompson’s constant red herrings aren’t twists and turns, but more like an overly complicated web that suffocates 88 Minutes. He wants the audience constantly to wonder who among Jack’s colleagues and confidantes may have betrayed him, but the mystery grows tired when every character is supposed to be suspicious. It’s overkill that leads to more laughter as even the most minor of characters is added the to the list of suspects, and every actor oversells their suspiciousness.

Director Jon Avnet doesn’t help 88 Minutes. He hits us with a constant stream of titillations that have nothing to do with making the film more interesting or compelling. I know he’s trying to get young men into the theater, but can’t he do it with more subtlety? We have a young lady wearing a sheer red top with a black bra underneath, other female characters who are running around in their underwear for no good reason, and the absurd scene with Pacino where a naked woman is brushing her teeth while raising one leg up to her ear like some sort of ballerina or the amazing elastic escort (is that what Gov. Spitzer paid $4300 for?).

Avnet also draws out the worst possible performances from each and every actress in 88 Minutes, even ones that are good. Alicia Witt plays a teaching assistant who has extremely over-exaggerated facial expressions and reactions to everything. She often borders on comical, when she isn’t crossing that border like Hitler invading Poland. Deborah Unger shows up to display the worst botox job ever, while Amy Brenneman is reduced to playing Gramm’s assistant, who just keeps answering the phone, which is not very exciting no matter how many directives Pacino yells at her.

How bad is 88 Minutes? It’s so bad people who won free tickets to see the movie with critics started walking out before it was even over!

88 Minutes is rated R for disturbing violent content, brief nudity and language.