88 Minutes

Here’s the point in his career that one starts to feel sorry for Al Pacino. If something like 88 Minutes is indicative of the quality of scripts coming across his desk, the next step is Lifetime Channel movies. And as far as ludicrous thrillers go, this one is about as ludicrous as they get … despite the complete and utter predictability of the story. Pacino dons a poofy ’do to do the role of forensic psychiatrist Jack Gramm. You can tell what kind of regard the filmmakers hold for their audience in that they feel the need to continually refer to forensic psychiatrist Jack Gramm as forensic psychiatrist Jack Gramm, just in case short attention spans forget who and what the character is. Forensic psychiatrist Jack Gramm’s testimony sent a serial killer to death row, and on the eve of the execution copycat killings break out, implicating forensic psychiatrist Jack Gramm. And he’s getting phone calls letting him know that he has 88 minutes to live. It’s all very silly, but not in a fun way. The identity of the real killer is blatantly obvious, even for a film that holds its audience in such low esteem. Actually, it’s more sad than silly.