The trailers for this film intrigued me. Jack Gramm (Al Pacino) is a college professor-cum-FBI forensic psychiatrist who has been thrust into the public eye when his testimony alone convicts Jon Forster (Neal McDonough) as The Seattle Slayer–a serial killer who strung up his female victims before killing them. However, the day before Forster’s execution, another woman is found killed in the exact same manner. Additionally, Gramm starts to receive messages informing him he has 88 minutes to live–phone calls, messages written on his car, and even an overhead projector inform him, and the audience, just how much longer we have. Is this new death a copycat? Is Forster pulling strings from behind bars? Did Gramm convict the wrong man all along? Will he be able to answer any of these questions before his time of execution? Should we really care?

Shooting things in real time is a very intriguing concept–films like High Noon or TV shows like 24 (at least the first season) automatically have a shot of adrenaline, because you know when the climax is going to come. Clocks (or cell phone calls) constantly remind you how much longer it will be until the Wild West shoot out, the bomb’s detonation, or the Oscar winner’s demise. But here, I found it a useful measure to the rolling of the credits.

The writing here is truly atrocious. Alicia Witt’s character oftentimes asks Gramm a ridiculous question only to answer it herself with a more ridiculous answer. At one point in Gramm’s search for the truth, a student stand between him and the door, certain Gramm wouldn’t shoot him. After ensuring the student he would, Gramm shoots at the door inches from the student’s head and gets to leave–but not before turning back and saying “I’m a bad shot.”

Pacino, presumably on the phone firing his agent

Maybe it is due to the triteness of the thriller script, but the ending is telegraphed from pretty early in the movie. It seems ridiculous that this “intelligent” man would spend an hour and a half running around when the answer seems so obvious. It also seems ridiculous that this 60-year old would have so many women, less than half his age throw themselves over him. Halfway through the chase, one of the girls he is with actually takes a break running for their lives to suggest having children together.

REALLY!?!

The film tries to be clever by planting red herrings all over the place, but in the end none of them work. There are utterly ridiculous scenes like Gramm dropping his phone and the screen breaking, just because–well I don’t know why. Or a fire truck that comes up to a burning building at around 30 mph, just so we can see Pacino do a pretty mediocre barrel roll, I guess. Also, Gramm dives to the ground 10 seconds before his car explodes, with no real explanation for his premonition. We’re also treated to a wonderfully pointless explanation for the title… Gramm is haunted by a past that is not explained until an hour in, and even after it is explained you can’t help but wonder “So what?”

The only good thing I can say about this movie is the fact that the first call informing Gramm of his “88 minutes” to live comes at the 20 minute mark–88 minutes from the end of the film. However, this is a pretty pathetic “praise;” even Pacino’s hair acting can’t give this film any stars.