Review of 88 Minutes (2007) by Manal S — 07 Apr 2010

Oh, Al Pacino, what happened? Once you were one of our most acclaimed thespians; now you star in crap like this "thriller," whose implausible storyline and ridiculous characters pale next to a performance in which you seem to be either half-asleep or yelling. And the worst part? The movie's 108 -- not 88 -- painful minutes long, which makes it both literally and figuratively the longest "88 Minutes" of our lives.

Just as the passage of time teaches us that our parents aren't infallible and the government isn't populated by our best and brightest, so too does it ravage our greatest actors, turning them from quixotic artistes into by-the-numbers paycheck whores. Time replaces the edgy Robert De Niro of Taxi Driver and Raging Bull with the family friendly Analyze This version, while venerated talents such as Jack Nicholson and Gene Hackman stop making films like The Last Detail and The Conversation in favor of lowest common denominator bilge like The Bucket List and Runaway Jury.

And then there's Pacino, whose knack for accepting almost every role offered him has obviously served as an example for contemporaries like Hilary Swank.

So it shouldn't really surprise anyone to hear that 88 Minutes is one small step for bad filmmaking and one giant leap for the increasing insignificance of the former Michael Corleone. Here, Pacino plays Jack Gramm, a Seattle psychology professor whose side gig is playing forensics expert for the FBI (though judging by his impressive fake bake, he might also be moonlighting for Hollywood Tan). Nine years ago, his testimony was instrumental in sending Jon Forster (Neal McDonough) to death row for the rape and murder of a young Seattle woman. Now Forster is mere days from execution, when another murder committed in eerily similar style casts doubt not only on the prisoner's guilt (though to be fair, could anybody as creepy looking as McDonough be innocent?), but on Gramm's credibility as well.

Oh, and somebody with a voice modulator just called Gramm to tell him he has 88 minutes to live. This film goes off the rails so early and so often it's hard to target specific areas for ridicule. From each preposterous twist to each increasingly absurd action sequence, 88 Minutes is as dumb a movie as you're likely to see this year, and may go down as Pacino's worst ever. And while we're at it, what is up with that hair? I'm not a guy who generally notices continuity errors, but when even I can see the main character's hair (or toupee, or whatever the hell that is on his head) changing styles, parts, and frizz from scene to scene, it must be pretty blatant. Unfortunately, it wouldn't matter if Pacino was as bald as John Travolta, 88 Minutes is pure, unadulterated crap.