88 Minutes – 2008
I have an inclination; a strong intuition that the latest Al Pacino film, 88 Minutes initially incorporated a slightly longer headline. I guess it is not surprising however that they opted to cut out the latter portion of the moniker, as ‘88 Minutes of Your Life You Will Never Get Back’ is not quite as zippy. Notwithstanding, of course the opportunity is lost to establish an ample warning for the unsuspecting audience who may not know well enough to swing far clear of this cataclysmic misfire of a film.
Al Pacino is almost always the best thing about a film, but in Jon Avnet’s 88 Minutes, even Scarface himself can’t punch up this material; in fact he doesn’t even appear to try. He stumbles through this role, half sleepwalking, half comatose, which ironically suits the character he is portraying quite capably. That is certainly more then one can remark regarding his quaff of hair which looks like a Muppet left in the microwave too long. I imagine this is the last time Avnet will slash the budget of his hair and makeup department.
Quips aside, this film is an “action/thriller” devoid of thrills, and scrapes the bottom of what could be deemed action; note to director, simply having a gun in a movie does not constitute inertia, there must be purpose, and tension to give it all meaning. Even if you argue that this is a psychological thriller, Avnet also seems to have forgotten any semblance of intelligence that would raise this movie above the level of a gimmick. 88 minutes is essentially all about the ending, and this could be passable if I had not figured out who the ‘surprise’ villain was during the opening act. This dreck simply keeps getting dumber and more implausible, and less forgivable, until you simply sit back and bask in the incompetence and place bets about how much lower it can slump to.
Al Pacino stars as Jack Gramm, a well respected forensic psychiatrist who currently teaches a University class, but acts more like a police officer the anything else, something of a hybrid between a member of CSI and Jack Bauer, brandishing his weapon, chasing suspects and being begged by the FBI for his assistance. But aside from being a John McClain wannabe with a suit and better vocabulary, after he receives a threat on his life, which is to be honored in 88 minutes, he is inertly passive, and wanders around aimlessly, unfazed; perhaps he is looking for a hair salon? The basis of this treat is spawned from Jon Foster (Neal McDonough) a convict on death row, and claims it was Jack’s phony testimony that landed him in the slammer. After a series of copycat killings complicate the situation, Jack enlists the aid of some of his students played by Alicia Witt and Leelee Sobieski (who gives one of the worst performances of the year) and his assistant, played by Amy Brenneman.
As I alluded to, the action ranges from non-existent to being harshly neutered and you know when one of the ‘tense’ scenes comprises of jack diving out of the way of a random fire truck, this ship ain’t coming in. The finale is cringe-inducing, and leaves the plot with more holes than Pacino has hair. (Last one, I swear) Sadly, this effort is egregiously forgettable, and is so intellectually challenged, that your brain quivers at its mere thought. When it comes to 88 Minutes, one minute was far too long.
