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It’s funny how a few added years and the fear that you might not be a bankable name anymore can color an actor’s choice of material. Some might argue that a great actor like Nicolas Cage has been slumming it in films like Ghost Rider or the more recent Bangkok Dangerous, but I think he’s still doing what makes him happy without regard for the attached paycheck, even if the projects aren’t connecting with a wide audience. Now an iconic figure like Al Pacino is a different story altogether. Having started out of the gate with an amazingly strong and impressive career, he’s only of late been tripped up by projects that are decidedly inferior to the bulk of his film canon. But when you consider his stellar work in The Godfather films, Dog Day Afternoon, Scarface, Scent of a Woman and Donnie Brasco, just to name a few, I suppose it’s always going to be difficult to live up such high standards.

Not that 88 Minutes is the complete flop many critics would have you believe. I went into it with low expectations and found something admirable in Pacino’s valiant attempt to salvage the inept plot mechanics. To be fair, were Pacino not the star and the major draw here, it might even pass as a minor guilty pleasure with a lesser name in the lead. But since this is, in fact, an Al Pacino movie with his name prominently above the title, it will inevitably be judged accordingly. And while this may have all the markings of a job-for-hire, I have to give Pacino the benefit of the doubt since he obviously enjoyed the experience of working with director Jon Avnet enough to team up with him again for this year’s Righteous Kill, co-starring none other than Robert De Niro. (Although reviews for that haven’t been flattering, either.)

At least the premise of 88 Minutes is an attention-getter: Dr. Jack Gramm (Al Pacino), a noted and respected forensic psychiatrist and college professor, gets a call on his cell phone one morning while heading to class telling him he only has 88 minutes to live. Years earlier Dr. Gramm’s expert testimony was key in convicting an accused serial killer named Jon Forster (Neal McDonough), also known as “The Seattle Slasher.” Not coincidentally, on the very day Gramm gets this cryptic call, Forster is slated to be executed, and one of Gramm’s students is also found murdered with the same modus operandi as the Seattle Slasher. Gramm immediately suspects this is the work of a copycat killer; someone who is either a fan of the Seattle Slasher or working with him to prove his innocence and get a stay of execution.

But FBI agents with whom Dr. Gramm has worked even start wondering about whether his testimony against Forster was as rock-solid as they first thought. The waters get further muddied when connections between Gramm and the student-victim are revealed, and other students in his class start questioning how his expert opinion could be beyond a shadow of a doubt. As more and more circumstantial evidence starts piling up against Dr. Gramm in the latest killing, he has to work fast to prove Forster is behind the scheme before his remaining 88 minutes are up. But the more manic and distracted he becomes, the more suspicious and guilty he begins to look. And the calls keeps coming – gently reminding the doctor that time is running out.

With few people he can inherently trust, Dr. Gramm seeks help from student-assistant Kim Cummings (Alicia Witt) in tracking down the mysterious phone calls which are placed from an unregistered, pay-as-you-go cell phone. His trusty secretary Shelly Barnes (Amy Brenneman, wasted here) also does her best to do extensive background checks into everyone he encounters within the limited timeframe. Meanwhile, his one closest FBI connection, Special Agent Frank Parks (William Forsythe), gives Gramm the benefit of the doubt, although he’s torn when all the evidence suggests otherwise. Without spoiling anything, our natural tendency to root for Gramm is well-rewarded in the end, although the ultimate resolution is a bit contrived and predictable.

A far cry from his most memorable roles, Pacino does an admirable job of making Dr. Gramm a credible character. His performance is a bit subdued, but I prefer it to some of his more manic, over-the-top interpretations in Any Given Sunday or The Devil’s Advocate. The thing that’s obviously lacking throughout 88 Minutes is a cohesive directorial style and a better conceived final act. Director Jon Avnet fails to guide any of his actors – which may be fine for seasoned veterans like Pacino and Forsythe, but the younger members of the cast seem utterly lost. Even competent actresses like Alicia Witt and Leelee Sobieski walk through their scenes like the robotic kids in Village of the Damned. And instead of the intended “a-ha” moment the ending was striving for, I just sat there trying to wrap my head around how this one person was capable of accomplishing everything alone.

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