88 Minutes

Ostensibly, this is a thriller about a convicted killer orchestrating the murder of the forensic psychiatrist who put him away. But, really, it’s about Al Pacino touching, kissing, fondling, hugging and, yes, tackling oodles of young women. Women like Alicia Witt, who’s so pretty that she’s illegal in Utah. Women like Amy Brenneman, who, while only young enough to be Pacino’s daughter, is still an extremely attractive individual. And women like Deborah Kara Unger and Leelee Sobieski, and newcomers Leah Cairns and Tammy Hui. And I’m guessing some of the set dressers and caterers and two of the gaffers. It’s just grandpa Al Pacino, touching up a storm. He’s a good-looking man, so I’m not sure why he has to touch women in a movie. He could probably do it at a bar or brothel. But here it is: a mediocre thriller about a guy who gently and sweetly touches you in a way that makes you feel like, yes, this guy is old, but he’s probably also medically capable of sexual intercourse.


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