88 minutes

88 Minutes confirms many stereotypes often associated with Hollywood. Killer threatening via phone call? Check. Signing a bankable star to play the same role, but in a lesser script? Check. Rainy Seattle as a backdrop? Check.

It begins with the meticulous murder-the sort done with ropes and pulleys-of a young woman in 1997 Seattle. Jump to the present. The psychopathic mind behind the original murder (and subsequent copies) has finally been caught and is on death row, mainly because of the testimony of forensic psychiatrist Dr. Jack Gramm (Al Pacino). Dr. Gramm, who dons perfectly messy "academic" hair throughout, teaches criminal psychology to bright students (Leelee Sobieski and The OC's Benjamin McKenzie) at a local graduate university, with the help of his faithful/lustful teaching assistant (Alicia Witt).

Before he arrives to class, however, Jack receives an ominous phone call, and a creepy Scream-type voice tells him he has, gasp, 88 minutes to live. "Tick tock doc," the caller says in a mocking voice. Ooh, the caller can rhyme too.

Soon after the threat, Jack learns that one of his students was found murdered in the same fashion and the convicted killer (an eerie Neal McDonough) gives an interview on live TV that points the finger at Jack. Jack starts to question his students and all those around him, including his lesbian-friend and secretary Shelley (Amy Brenneman), Special Agent policeman-friend Frank Parks (William Forsythe) and the dean of the school (Deborah Kara Unger). He receives reminders of his remaining time wherever he goes, whether it be scrawled on his class notes, wiped on his freshly-dewed car or received by phone-via 1-800-DEATH-IS-EMINENT.

Jack's chase through this maze of deception, misinformation and threats might sound exciting, but don't be fooled: the plot moves at a hypocritically languid pace and little suspense is ever successfully built. The more intense, dramatic scenes feature some fake and pitiful acting, with the exception of Brenneman, who gives the film's only memorable performance.

Gramm might be more bewildered by how much money he has amassed as a professor and doctor (he drives a Porshce and has a penthouse apartment) than by all the danger he is in. His character ultimately is a poor and tired version of a Pacino stereotype that has been around for ages and has been perfected. It's as if Pacino wishes he could just film Heat again.