There may not be enough material in “88 Minutes” for 88 films, but there are at least six or seven thrillers bumping heads in John Avnet’s new film, tripping over one another in an incoherent collage of clichés and cell phones. Ironically enough, the movie needs 20 more minutes than its title indicates to unfurl its story; even more ironic, it takes just about 88 minutes to learn why Dr. Jack Gramm (Al Pacino) is only being given 88 minutes to live.

Think about it: If some cryptic voice called you up and told you that you had only 88 minutes to live, and then kept calling back to count down from 70 to 60 to 50, with nary a suggestion as to what you should be doing to avoid this fate, wouldn’t you be more confused than anything?

So are we. It seems no one has the slightest clue as to why our hero is on a countdown, nor why that countdown starts at 88 minutes. This isn’t just a hole in the script — it’s an utter lack of wisdom as to how to generate suspense. It’s no surprise that Mr. Pacino looks more mystified than scared.

No doubt, the movie would play better with the sound turned off. In its opening sequence, two young women, identical twins, are attacked by an intruder in the middle of the night. The man strings them upside down with an elaborate harness before cutting into them like a butcher. It is a shocking introduction — a bit exploitative since we don’t yet know the victims — and it plunges us quickly and deeply into the world of Dr. Gramm, a forensic psychiatrist and professor in the field who spends his days immersing himself in the psyches of people such as Jon Forster (Neal McDonough). Forster is on trial for the murder of one of the twins, and Gramm, as the key witness for the state, says, without a hint of physical evidence, that he knows Forster is the killer. His intuition tells him so.

So Forster is convicted and sentenced to death. Flash forward a few years to the day Forster is scheduled to die (no, the 88 minutes haven’t started yet), and Gramm wakes up one morning to find himself bombarded on all fronts. Cable news is going wall-to-wall with Forster’s impending execution, airing the convict’s grievances that Gramm’s methods were flawed, as well as Forster’s appeal for an emergency stay. Making matters worse, one of Gramm’s students has been found dead — killed the same way that Forster allegedly dispatched his victims.

As Gramm realizes that the killer may still be at large and that his testimony may indeed have been flawed, he gets a call on his cell phone from a voice telling him he has 88 minutes to live. Now he’s noticing strange, shadowy men in leather jackets following him around. Then comes the news that the woman Gramm was with the night before has also been found dead. He starts looking around him — at his Bluetooth-wearing business partner (Amy Brenneman), his flirty teaching assistant (Alicia Witt), and even one of his students (Leelee Sobieski) — wondering who’s trying to set him up for a fall.

Further plot elements include a flashback to the day before, in which Gramm is partying with his now-deceased student, and another one going back decades, hinting at an ocean of pain to be found in Gramm’s childhood memories.

As Gramm sprints across the streets of Seattle, nary one of these half-dozen mini-movies seems the least bit interested in showcasing the considerable talent and intensity of Mr. Pacino, nor of sustaining any real degree of momentum. Instead, we watch as one of cinema’s greatest talents runs to and fro with absolutely nothing to do. I’d rather watch 88 uninterrupted minutes of Mr. Pacino running on a treadmill.