The writing seems clever on one level – the intertextuality of plots – but the characters are mainly annoying. Especially unbearable is Kathy Baker as Bernadette, who knits a lot and looks smug, but isn’t given a plot thread of her own.
Emily Blunt is probably the best of those in the ensemble cast, but even she is only given trite dialogue.
Al Pacino stars as famed forensic psychiatrist Dr. Jack Gramm, who is suddenly faced with a new murder that resembles the ones from his past that led to him putting away serial killer Jon Forster (Neal McDonough), who is now on Death Row. Then Gramm gets a phone call telling him he has 88 minutes to live…
The premise is a strong one, and Pacino cannot help but be anything except extremely charismatic, but the film just doesn’t work. The action is meant to occur in almost real time, but so many of the episodes shown would have taken much longer than the narrative allows them. Crossing a concourse, driving across town, going up in a lift: all of these things take more time than the few minutes the plot allows for them. And for some of that time, he doesn’t even seem in a hurry.
The story logic is pushing it, but just about holds together. But it’s still deeply odd, and only works if you accept that Pacino hangs around with young girls all the time.
