If one is the loneliest number, two is company, three is a crowd and four is an orgy, then eighty-eight must be the universal symbol for unwatchability.

“88 Minutes” is the “Mortal Kombat” spikepit bottom of Al Pacino’s career. I used to go with confidence to every Pacino movie (even “S1m0ne,” even “Two for the Money,” even, Lord help me, “Gigli”), no matter how dubious the apparent quality, assured that I’d at least be somewhat amused by whatever the man managed to siphon from his crazytank. Old Al could make anything interesting, if only by sheer will, aided by unchecked arm waving and eye-bugging. Now that I’ve seen him flail around like Hillary dodging Bosnian snipers in this neverending thriller, I’ve changed my mind.

I glared at the screen in utter contempt and anguish at Pacino, who could have saved us all from this indignity. If he hadn’t chosen this moronic project, surely it would have gone direct-to-VHS. Seriously – without the Pacino presence, it’s not even good enough for DVD. When this one comes out on disc, if you try to watch it your player will spit it back out at you and say “What the hell, dude! I’ve got standards here.”

Other than Pacino, the movie’s most recognizable star is the long-forgotten Leelee Sobieski, who took the first train in from 2001 to sign on. Go back, Leelee! Our cold future is not a friendly place. 2001 needs you!

Pacino is told near the beginning of the film he has 88 minutes to live. Coincidentally, that’s exactly how long he has left until his career is killed by this horrid movie. He plays a college professor who doubles as a celebrity expert witness on the human psyche. A serial rapist/murderer he helped put away nine years ago is about to be executed, and from behind bars he’s orchestrated a series of intimidating phone calls that taunt Pacino about an impossible Rube Goldberg plan geared to frighten Pacino and off him in the final scene.

The film gets its most creative (yet still not all that creative) when thinking of ways to tell Pacino how many minutes are left. He gets phone messages, audiotapes, even finger scrawlings on his dirty rear windshield. It would have been cool if the killer had tried skywriting, or gotten a crowd at a baseball game to flip over tiles that spelled out the timed death threat. At one point there’s an MSNBC newscast in the frame, and I was hoping the killer would find away to put “You have 45 minutes left to live” on the ticker. But alas, no. Maybe in the sequel?

Never does it occur to Pacino to hide or maybe steer away from situations that could possibly kill you within 88 minutes. Like, say, building ledges with high drops or places in which crazy people are waving guns at him or trying to run him down with motorcycles. He’s determined to find the killer’s henchmen, even if it kills him. Because this time, it’s most definitely personal.

Pacino’s character is pretty assertive. He takes his TA’s cell phone and car from her by dictating that he needs them, calls up MSNBC (your movie’s generous sponsor) to break into an interview with the killer and commandeers a cab by offering the cabbie $100. When the driver hems and haws, Pacino seals the deal by saying “OK, $100 PLUS TIP.”

Ah, the power of negotiation. Everything that happens in this movie is patently ridiculous, yet extremely boring. Every other line makes you want to bash your head into the seat in front of you, as characters ask themselves painfully obvious rhetorical questions, which they promptly answer. At a certain point Pacino sort of throttles down his wildman act and starts coasting. He’ll get a phone call that says “17 minutes” and he’s like, “Oh, that’s nice. Maybe that’s long enough for me to get some Sudoku in.”

Or maybe that was me. It was definitely the director, as well as possibly the dude to my left, who had given up and gone home at the 30 minute mark. By the way, if Leele, still stuck in her 2001 mindset, asked what the hell is Sudoku, I would reply, girl, you don’t even wanna know. 1 star out of 4.