Taking Out the Trash:

Not Even Pacino can Salvage 88 Minutes
by
Morgan p Salvo


Going under the assumption 88 Minutes might be bad, I felt Pacino, no stranger to really bad movies, would use his scene-chewing ability to make at least his time on screen worth watching. It might have redeeming quality, some value. This was not the case. Why anyone would consider making this flick is beyond my comprehension. Why Al chose to do this movie will haunt me to my grave. He might as well have starred in a Murder She Wrote anniversary special.

The premise is that Jack Gramm (Pacino) is a college professor and moonlighting FBI forensic specialist. His questionable testimony leads to the conviction of a murderer who receives the death sentence. On the day of the serial killer’s execution it comes back to haunt Gramm via cryptic cell-phone death threats, giving him the title’s time frame to live.

It’s a shame this movie exceeds 88 minutes. The audience starts fidgeting in 10. What could’ve been a suspenseful who-dunnit with suspects popping up all over the place turns into a by-the-book cat and mouse game. Only thing missing is the mouse or was it the cat—doesn’t matter. The plot-holes force the stupidity to run rampant-- almost as much as Al’s 60-something body allows him to sprint around finding clues. So many promising red herrings pop up only to disappear without explanation it’s maddening. Characters seem to emerge to intrigue then dissipate into oblivion.

 William Forsythe is annoying in the generic role of stern-yet-friendly cop. Amy Brenneman and Deborah Unger are so useless it looks like their first movie. Alicia Witt’s role is so implausible it boggles the mind. They all must suffer from dementia. That’s the only account I could come up with for their participation in this immediately disappointing movie. They don’t remember being in it. Then there’s Leelee Sobieski. I’ve berated her before but now I’m convinced that any shred of talent she had was her cleavage. She is possibly the worst actress walking this planet.

Warning: If you can’t figure out who’s behind the cryptic cell messages and counting “tic-tock” down the clock you need to see more movies. This is textbook murder mystery and the culprit is obvious from the first reel. When it gets to the end (if you last that long) you will be sorely disappointed that you weren’t fooled at all. The evil-doer even gives a mad-scientist-maniacal-cackle falling so flat I heard groans of disbelief from the audience.
Allowing 88 minutes its incredulous function as transparent/irritating thriller, the only smidgeon of suspense relies on wondering how much more this flick can let you down, hoping against hope you won’t hit the ground too hard. It’s a long fall.

Al does Shakespeare and some of the best acting I’ve ever seen. Too bad his mere presence couldn’t save the piss-poor writing and inept direction. This is the first time I’ve seen Pacino lower his standard equivalent to the movie rather than give it a boost. But this movie doesn’t need a boost; it needs to a shove, right into the trash compactor. 88 minutes is 107 minutes too long.

88 Minutes
Al Pacino, William Forsythe, Alicia Witt, Amy Brenneman, Deborah Kara Unger
Director: Jon Avnet
 1/2 star