Pacino's back and louder than ever.
Blustery, charismatic Oscar winner Al Pacino returns to the big screen this week as a rock star forensic psychiatrist in 88 Minutes, a new thriller from director Jon Avnet (Fried Green Tomatoes).
If you didn't know there was such a thing as a "rock star forensic psychiatrist," you're not alone. But if there ever was one, Pacino's Dr. Jack Gramm is it, boozing it up and cavorting with the ladies at night and putting deranged serial killers on death row during the day. One of those killers, a particularly charming fellow known as the Seattle Slayer (Neal McDonough), steadfastly claims that Jack framed him, and when a new murder bearing his unique signature is discovered, doubts about his guilt begin to emerge. But Jack's got more than his credibility to worry about: In addition to receiving threatening phone calls by some obnoxious cat telling him he's got less than ninety minutes to live (hence the title), he's got some creepy leather-clad guy following him around.
Could the troubling developments somehow be connected? Could it all be part of some sinister, broad-based conspiracy to bring down Seattle's most brilliant forensic psychiatrist? Of course, but don't bother asking the police, the FBI or other qualified legal authorities to get to the bottom of it. No no, my friend -- this is a job for Pacino.
Which would be fine if he weren't surrounded by a bunch of stiffs uttering some of the most inane dialogue I've heard in a non-horror flick in quite some time. Wide-eyed Alicia Witt flounders in the role of Pacino's protégé/potential love interest, while Leelee Sobieski's subpar performance as a suspicious student provides a definitive answer for those wondering why she's worked so little since her breakout Eyes Wide Shut role. And B-movie veteran William Forsythe might very well qualify as the most idiotic law enforcement official ever captured on celluloid.
On a positive note, director Avnet does manage to keep 88 Minutes moving at a brisk, entertaining pace, although there are a few too many flashbacks for my taste. But Gary Scott Thompson's script is weighed down by a bevy of truly awful lines, most of which are devoted to describing the obvious or recapping what happened in the previous scene. The dialogue is littered with gems like "Oh my god, so-and-so just got shot" after a person is gunned down, and "I think that guy was trying to scare us" after getting sideswiped by a motorcyclist.
Pacino devotees will enjoy 88 Minutes, so long as they cover their ears whenever anyone else is talking, and fans of psychological thrillers will appreciate the story's twists and turns. Just be prepared for more cringeworthy moments than an early-season episode of "American Idol."
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