88 Minutes (DVD)

Dr Jack Gramm is a forensic psychologist whose testimony has put dozens of dangerous criminals behind bars including sadistic rapist and murderer Jon Forster. But as Forster's execution looms, a series of killings occur that bear all the hallmarks of the so-called Seattle Slayer. Then Gramm receives a phone call telling him he has eighty-eight minutes to live. Has he helped to convict the wrong man or is the new spate of murders a double-blind? No ...
...prevent his own death…

Director Jon Avnet is a hack for hire that has experienced moderate success with such average fare as "Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Café" and "Red Corner". But quality control has never been his forte, as this appalling effort proves. He takes a hackneyed premise and makes a comprehensive pig's ear of it. He has no idea how to create or sustain tension, throwing in random swirling ... more

Dr Jack Gramm is a forensic psychologist whose testimony has put dozens of dangerous criminals behind bars including sadistic rapist and murderer Jon Forster. But as Forster's execution looms, a series of killings occur that bear all the hallmarks of the so-called Seattle Slayer. Then Gramm receives a phone call telling him he has eighty-eight minutes to live. Has he helped to convict the wrong man or is the new spate of murders a double-blind? No matter what the case, Gramm only has eighty-eight minutes to prevent his own death…

Director Jon Avnet is a hack for hire that has experienced moderate success with such average fare as "Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Café" and "Red Corner". But quality control has never been his forte, as this appalling effort proves. He takes a hackneyed premise and makes a comprehensive pig's ear of it. He has no idea how to create or sustain tension, throwing in random swirling cameras at every available opportunity in an attempt to make things appear exciting and using an excessive number of flashbacks to events that occurred mere moments before. It is supposed to show how the central figure is piecing the puzzle together, but suggests that the director thinks his audience is a bunch of idiots. The pacing stutters because Avnet keeps taking breaks from the race-against-time element of the story to drop in clumsy character exposition. Although the film is called "88 Minutes" it lasts a-hundred-and-eight (mainly because of the extraneous flashbacks) and manages to drag. He uses clichéd devices such as a series of close-ups of characters' faces to suggest the paranoia Jack is feeling.

He also underlines the players he wants you to consider as possible suspects. But he does so in such a clumsy manner that you will be able to figure out the lame twist just by process of elimination. He doesn't spend any time developing the characters, so you won't care about the lead or his various hangers-on because they are clearly just narrative constructs. He misses the opportunity to make Forster a malevolent presence hanging over events, instead using him as a lazy plot motor. He doesn't give his performers enough support, allowing them to coast by on hitting their marks and saying their lines, hoping some of Al Pacino's reputation will rub off on them. But it makes for nothing more than a lazy, contrived stab at the thriller genre.

Screenwriter Gary Scott Thompson clearly has an affinity with numbers, having written scripts for such films as "Hollow Man 2" and "2 Fast 2 Furious". Or maybe he's only good at ripping off other people's ideas. It would explain why this movie is so deeply unoriginal. It feels like it was written when mobile phones first became readily available, such is the reliance on them to drive the narrative. He spends too much time setting up suspects without giving them reasonable motives or even the semblance of a personality on which to hang their status. So his attempts at laying false trails feel heavy-handed, especially as he introduces and discards characters in record time. The plot is paper thin and the twist is so obvious that even a child would disregard it for being too obvious. The story is riddled with plot holes; why would a death row prisoner be granted an audience with a TV news show on the eve of his execution? Why does Jack drag his assistants around with him, endangering their lives when there is no need? Why would a man convinced of his own infallibility rely on gut instinct to save him from a car bomb? How could the real killer get away with so many attempts on Dr Gramm's life without being detected, considering the level of surveillance in today's society? Why are all the players so familiar with guns? And why oh why oh why does Jack never get the police or the FBI involved once it becomes apparent the threats to his life are real?

The characterisation is risible. Jack never for a second doubts his abilities, choices or theories, making him an arrogant prick we can't empathise with. It makes his paranoia unbelievable and the way he entirely trusts one of his assistants but suspects the other is entirely arbitrary. That said assistant then follows him blindly into danger makes no sense. His tragic back-story feels utterly contrived. His secretary Shelly is a bland faithful and true stereotype and when we discover she is gay, it makes the inevitable twist as clear as day. His teaching assistant Kim seems to exist purely to fulfil the roles of suspect and damsel in distress. His students Lauren and Mike are badly under-written. Meanwhile we never see enough of Jon Forster for him to be anything other than a toothless villain. The dialogue is utterly dreadful, with Jack at one point saying "There's been a breach in my most secure area!" without a shred of irony.

I've never understood Al Pacino's reputation as one of the greatest living actors. As far as I'm concerned he has two modes; shouty and whispery. But as Jack Gramm he adds another dubious string to his bow - that of sleepwalking through his role. Whether he took that part as an easy payday or to prove he can still do action pushing seventy, it's no excuse for the lame performance that fails to breathe life into the risible script. His turn lacks subtlety and substance and the only thing that stands out about it is his enormous hair.

Neal McDonough doesn't get enough screen-time to make much of an impact as death row prisoner Jon Forster. All you are left with is a vague impression of an intense blue-eyed stare. Amy Brenneman plays Gramm's loyal secretary with a reasonable amount of commitment, but never escapes plot device status. Alicia Witt is little more than a lazy plot motor as Gramm's teaching assistant Kim. There was a time when Leelee Sobieski was poised to be the next big thing, but her choices of roles have always been iffy and the part of student Lauren Douglas is no different. She comes across as too smart at the beginning so never really convinces as a victim and makes a hash of the character reversal part way through. Benjamin McKenzie is surplus to requirements as student and suspect Mike, but never even bothers to give the guy a personality.

The original music by Edward Shearmuir flips back and forth between modern electronic soundscapes and ticking percussion that support the race-against-time thread of the narrative and traditional thriller minor key piano and dark string arrangements. It loses its edge because it is near constant and the discordant piano and string melodies are far from original. There are orchestrations that wouldn't feel out of place in a B-movie horror. I suppose it matches the rest of the film in that it is predictable to the point of cliché.

"88 Minutes" is a tired stab at a thriller that is one long string of hackneyed characters, predictable twists and a plot with more holes than a pair of fishnet tights. The direction is amateurish, the performances either phoned-in or pathetic and the writing downright atrocious. Don't waste your money on this bit of tat. There are more surprises in your average episode of "Midsomer Murders" and a higher standard of acting. Don't even bother with it if it's on late night television unless you're looking for a cure for insomnia. 

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