2008 Woodie Awards
88 minutes too long
Matthew Howard
Issue date: 4/24/08 Section: Life!
88 Minutes rivals 10,000 B.C. and The Heartbreak Kid as being the worst movie I've reviewed for The Weekly…and it comes away with the trophy. It's no surprise that it has been lingering on Columbia's shelves for more than a year (it came out on DVD in Germany early in 2007).
The screenplay is credited to Gary Scott Thompson, but could have been written by a chimpanzee. Al Pacino does his part by sleepwalking his way through the role, which raises the question, why did Al Pacino associate himself with this schlock-fest? Though, a better question is, why the heck am I in the theater?
There's a certain compulsion that accompanies watching something as moronic as 88 Minutes. You know the experience is causing your brain to rot, but you need to keep viewing to see just how ridiculous things will get. To the extent that this sort of masochistic exercise is the reason to sit through the movie, the ending does not disappoint. Director Jon Avnet saves the worst for last. And when I write "worst," I mean "worst." This movie doesn't settle for mere mediocrity, it careens into a free-fall early in the proceedings and doesn't hit rock-bottom until the end credits roll.
Pacino plays Dr. Jack Gramm, a world-renowned forensic psychiatrist who acts more like a cop than a shrink. He's frequently engaging in foot chases, waving around his I.D. like a badge, and being called in for consultations by the FBI; you know, typical psychiatrist stuff.
He's also a party animal, having sex with any woman who smiles at him as long as she's not his lesbian assistant (Amy Brenneman), a student, or a patient. That rules out his T.A. Kim (Alicia Witt) as a bed-partner, even though she has the hots for him. So instead of sleeping with him, she spends the entire movie trailing after him, asking inane questions and making utterly obvious observations.
To demonstrate just how utterly brain-dead the directing and screenwriting are, here are two examples. In one scene, Gramm's silver Porsche is vandalized, its windows shattered. In the next scene, the car is speeding through the streets, miraculously restored to its former pristine condition. And then there's a shady-looking guy in a leather jacket who keeps appearing throughout the movie. Gramm asks, "Who is that guy?" But he doesn't follow up.
The screenplay is credited to Gary Scott Thompson, but could have been written by a chimpanzee. Al Pacino does his part by sleepwalking his way through the role, which raises the question, why did Al Pacino associate himself with this schlock-fest? Though, a better question is, why the heck am I in the theater?
There's a certain compulsion that accompanies watching something as moronic as 88 Minutes. You know the experience is causing your brain to rot, but you need to keep viewing to see just how ridiculous things will get. To the extent that this sort of masochistic exercise is the reason to sit through the movie, the ending does not disappoint. Director Jon Avnet saves the worst for last. And when I write "worst," I mean "worst." This movie doesn't settle for mere mediocrity, it careens into a free-fall early in the proceedings and doesn't hit rock-bottom until the end credits roll.
Pacino plays Dr. Jack Gramm, a world-renowned forensic psychiatrist who acts more like a cop than a shrink. He's frequently engaging in foot chases, waving around his I.D. like a badge, and being called in for consultations by the FBI; you know, typical psychiatrist stuff.
He's also a party animal, having sex with any woman who smiles at him as long as she's not his lesbian assistant (Amy Brenneman), a student, or a patient. That rules out his T.A. Kim (Alicia Witt) as a bed-partner, even though she has the hots for him. So instead of sleeping with him, she spends the entire movie trailing after him, asking inane questions and making utterly obvious observations.
To demonstrate just how utterly brain-dead the directing and screenwriting are, here are two examples. In one scene, Gramm's silver Porsche is vandalized, its windows shattered. In the next scene, the car is speeding through the streets, miraculously restored to its former pristine condition. And then there's a shady-looking guy in a leather jacket who keeps appearing throughout the movie. Gramm asks, "Who is that guy?" But he doesn't follow up.