"88 Minutes" doesn't play well as a movie. But as a project, I bet it pitched terrifically. "There's this forensic psychiatrist, see? And the day a guy he helped convict is going to be executed, the shrink gets an anonymous call saying he's got 88 minutes to live. And then the idea is that the clock starts ticking, and he's got the last hour and a half of the movie to figure out who's out to get him." Simple and familiar -- this isn't the first "real-time" thriller, or the last -- it's made to be green-lit.

But made to be an actual movie? That's less certain. Once the setup is out of the way and that hour and 28 minutes starts elapsing, things begin to fall apart. Why doesn't the hero just go to one of his friends in the police and ask to be locked in a cell for an hour and a half? Or just leave town, fast? Certainly there were times watching this when I contemplated it.

The movie stars Al Pacino, doing one of those periodic paycheck roles in which he pulls on a black wig and a bad attitude and cashes in some of the enormous credibility he banked years ago. It's a more centered performance than some recent ones -- he doesn't pull that tired trick of suddenly talking VEry loud on unexPECted syllables -- but it's nothing that a dozen other American actors couldn't have done.

That's a problem, because without Pacino's usual flashes and flourishes, we're given time to concentrate on the story, which is strictly hackwork. The solution, when it's finally revealed (or unraveled), includes literally years' worth of far-fetched opportunities and subterfuges.

"88 Minutes" should be the running time of a smart, swift little thriller. It should not be the answer to the question "How long do you think before I forget this nonsense?" (Rated R)