88 Minutes (2008)

Al Pacino looks creaky and old in the creaky and old thriller "88 Minutes," a supposed twisty flick that doesn't have the balls to provide any suspense. Pacino is Dr. Jack Gramm, a haggard forensic psychiatrist who works as a university professor. Here, his week is worse than tenure rejection: A serial killer (Neal McDonough) he helped put away is headed for the death chamber when low and behold a serious of crimes matching the killer's own MO start popping up all over Seattle. Did Jack put away the wrong guy? Hmm, gosh, snore. The whole film is a painful chore, topped by an endless montage where Jack frantically uses his cell phone while driving a taxi across Seattle as the slack-jawed cabbie watches from the backseat. Director Jon Avnet tries fast-paced editing, a flock of obvious red herrings and a wandering camera to gussy up thrills, but he can't save this cable-ready Z-grade whodunit. Bigots who think "God hates fags" will be among the film's fans. Anyone with a soul will flee. When did Pacino become so boring? D-