Poorly directed, choppily edited, miscast--as well as badly acted, just for one hell of a twofer!--cliched and predictable from beginning to end, with a film score that recedes so far into the background that you're not even sure there is one, 88 Minutes is the type of movie where you have to wonder if director Jon Avnet(Fried Green Tomatoes, the upcoming Righteous Kill) and writer Gary Scott Thompson (Hollow Man II, Las Vegas) ever truly went to film school in spite of their somewhat impressive cinematic pedigrees, or if they've just been extremely lucky all this time.

     Pacino plays Dr. Jack Gramm, a forensic psychologist and teacher, who helped lock up serial rapist/killer Jon Forster(Neal McDonough). This was based partly on the joint testimony of Jack and one Janie Cates(Tammy Hui), who was the sole survivor of the attempted double murd-er of herself and her twin sister Joanie(Vicky Huang), since the evidence against Forster was entirely circum-stantial.

     The bad acting begins immediately with the actresses --who look nothing alike--playing the sisters, as Hui can barely manage to utter a terrified scream properly, let alone deliver her lines convincingly. It's quite possible she took the same Learning Annex course on acting as the amazingly untalented Scout Taylor-Compton. After the initial and obligatory trial scene where Forster is put away, we erratically shift to nine years later. During this transition we dissolve back and forth a moment between a sea plane landing and Pacino on the stand in court, before the title card tells us nine years have passed. At first I wondered if perhaps the editing was a mistake which somehow made it into the final print, or if editor Peter E. Berger(Star Trek V: The Final Frontier, Alvin and the Chipmunks) was possibly drunk on the job when he was making final cuts. Unfortunately, Berger is just setting the tone for the first of many sloppily edited transitions and flashbacks.

     As we rejoin with Jack, he's in the process of having breakfast with a beautiful woman he picked up at a bar and bedded the night before, when he receives a call from his gay secretary Shelly(Judging Amy's Amy Brenneman) who tells him he's needed for a meeting at his office. You might be wondering why I brought such attention to the word "gay". The reason is because director Avnet makes a particular and highly blatant point early on that Shelly is gay. Not because it's a casual part of her personality, as homosexuality is within the real world--but because the fact that Shelly is gay later on becomes a plot point upon which a couple of storytelling contrivances can hang. Rather than take the time to develop Shelly's character into anything more than just an assistant to Jack, and establish her as a real human being who just happens to be gay, her homo-sexuality instead becomes a character trait. It's an example of one of the laziest forms of screenwriting imaginable, and is no better than dumping a token black character into a mostly white cast, simply to have a "black friend" present.

     Pathetic.

     Things start to go south for Jack once he gets to the office and meets with Frank Parks(William Forsythe). It turns out two FBI agents are waiting for Jack to ask him some questions about a recent spate of killings by some-one who is either a copycat serial killer of Forster's, or the real killer who was never caught. The previous night, one of Jack's students was killed and a tape was deliver-ed to the FBI which captured the whole thing. This is the first in a series of badly performed, written and ludicrous scenes, because the first quarter of it has to deal with Jack offering his visitors milk and cookies to break the ice and put everyone at ease. Yes, you read that right, and that portion takes up a good two or three minutes as Jack debates with Parks as to whether he wants a glass of milk, since Parks turned down a cookie. Jack figures, "maybe you'll change your mind."

     I honestly wish that I was joking when I wrote that just now.

     Better yet, I wish I'd never seen it, just as I wish it would have been firmly established whether Parks works for the FBI, the local Seattle police, or is just an armed rent-a-cop working on Jack's payroll. We never find out for sure. It's also a sad day when during this scene, once Jack sees the tape(and who records on videotape any-more? Does this take place in the 90's?), Pacino does his patented "I'm closing my eyes 'cause I'm sad and don't want to see anymore" face, and his eyes close for so long it looks like he's about to take a nap instead!! This elicited peals of unintentional laughter from my screening audience, and you'll either do the same or lower your head in embarrassed shame for Al.

     I can't even honestly say Pacino does the best with the material he's given, because he truly looks bored and disinterested in nearly every scene, and who can blame him? As the "clues" and misdirection pile up, and random characters are introduced to allow for more "suspects", the story continues to tumble downward into a bottomless pit of improbability. Benjamin McKenzie(JAG, The O.C.) is useless as one of Jack's students who's taken an interest in the case only to serve as an unchallenging adversary to the elder man's steadfast belief that Forster is guilty, no matter what. Alicia Witt(Mr. Holland's Opus, Vanilla Sky) plays a student assist-ant and wannabe love interest for Jack, her jealousy of the special interest he seems to take in fellow student Lauren(Eyes Wide Shut's Leelee Sobieski) serving only to potentially place her as a red herring for the killer's identity. And the unusually beautiful and highly talented Deborah Kara Unger(The Game, Silent Hill) is done a grave disservice by Avnet, in the fact that she is given virtually nothing to do but be the improbably beautiful dean of the college where Jack teaches, and later play victim.

     As far as the technical side of the movie goes, 88 Minutes scores a big fat goose egg on this point as well. Besides the poor transitioning shots, there is a scene where Jack has to dive aside as a fire truck barrels down on him. It is so obviously the stunt man doing the leap, one almost expects Pacino to walk back into frame, help him up and give him a clap on the back while saying "Good job!" After that moment of brilliance, Jack walks into the crowded street with a gun in hand(following an attempt to assassinate him), looking for Witt's character Kim who has become lost in the crowd. An old woman yells out "he's got a gun", and while the crowd scatters in panic, do any of the half dozen police or firemen present even look in Jack's direction or attempt to tackle him? Of course not! There's even a quick aerial shot of the scene, and Jack wanders around freely while the crowd runs and screams, and the police do nothing. Add to this a subsequent scene where Jack and Kim borrow a cab to go across town where it's at first a slightly overcast yet mostly clear day, then raining outside as Jack drives the cab, and yet again overcast yet clear(with dry streets plainly evident) when the duo reaches their destination, and it's clear that the continuity editor was joining film editor Berger for a couple Tequila shots in the editing room.

     And of course, along with every ridiculous thriller cliche one can imagine thrown in, the true identity of the killer--along with that person's acting ability flying straight out the window at that point--makes for one lousy conclusion to one lousy film.

     88 Minutes isn't just one of the(admittedly few) worst Pacino films ever...it's a personal embarrassment for a great actor who should have had better sense than to sign on to a half-baked project like this.