88 Minutes

Psycho-killer thrillers are not my preferred genre, however, when I found out that The Godfather, Al Pacino and Amy Brenneman of NYPD Blue and Judging Amy fame were starring in this film I made an exception.  I thought it would at least be an enjoyable hour or so at the cinema.  Careful not to impart my negative bias in this review I called a friend to go and watch the film with me. He is more favourably disposed to films of this kind and would aid in balancing my opinion, but on this occasion we concurred as to the verdict.

The film opens in a disturbing fashion, with the assault and murder of a young woman, Jodie Kates and the rape and attempted murder of her twin sister, Janie Kates, who manages to scare off the killer and testify to the crime in court. This leads to the supposed conviction of the Seattle slayer serial killer, John Forster (Neal McDonough).  Her testimony is confirmed by Dr. Jack Gramm (Pacino), forensic psychiatrist for the FBI, professor in forensic psychiatry at a local university and serious womaniser, who confirms that Forster’s psychological profile matches that of the accused Forster and is certain that the right man has been convicted.

 John Forster is sentenced to death. However, on the day of his execution another murder is committed in the same area and fashion as the Seattle slayer.  This casts doubt on Forster’s planned execution which is later stayed. Is it a copycat or is Forster an innocent man on death-row?  Adamant that it’s a copycat Dr. Gramm sets out to prove it but finds in doing so that the killer starts targeting those close to him and is staging a vendetta. He receives a call on his mobile: a lady screams and then, Tick-tock, you have 88 minutes to live; you know how long 88 minutes can be? 11:45am. Tick-tock.  Even the startling call is not enough to scare Jack. He immediately seeks to trace the call contacting his personal assistant and right-hand lady Shelley (Brenneman). It turns out that the phone used to make the call was registered in the name Jack’s long deceased sister, who was murdered at the age of twelve and for whose death he holds himself singularly responsible. The story unfolds with a series of murders that serve to confuse viewers preventing them from deciphering who the killer is and calls counting down the minutes to his death, Tick-tock.  Ultimately they do not really fit the plot or develop the storyline. 

The characters are one-dimensional and under-developed apart from two moments of vulnerability and revelation portraying their honesty and fragility. I can’t develop this any further because it might spoil it for those still interested in watching the film. Very little else can be taken seriously. The acting is good which would be expected from the list of star actors, but unfortunately, the screen play is weak, despite a plot that could’ve made for riveting cinema. I’m afraid the directing and cinematography aren’t any better and merely enhance the unrealistic story that you will be subjected to during the hour and forty seven minutes running time.

There is some spiritual value in 88 Minutes, if you’re paying attention or watching from that perspective, it reveals that truly honest conversation brings those communicating to a greater love and respect for one another. I thought it would also be useful for those looking for a visual and contemporary example of The Standard of Satan presented in the meditation on The Two Standards in The Spiritual Exercises of Saint Ignatius Loyola.

Ricardo Da Silva nSJ



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