Dog Day Afternoon premiered in late September 1975, and, although regular followers of Mid Century Cinema may grow weary of the phrase, I nevertheless have no choice but to report that it is one landmark films of the New Hollywood. In my defense, it was an era that produced many landmarks, right up there with interwar Art Deco Architecture—I mean, why do you think we’re here? And as I’m repeating myself (we are in year nine of a ten year epoch), let me also note that Dog Day is a movie distinguished by an all-star team of seventies players putting forth some of their finest efforts. Director Sidney Lumet, who was in the midst of an astonishing New Hollywood run, would turn next to Network. Director of Photography Victor J. Kemper was one of the signature cinematographers of the seventies, coming to this picture of the heels of (please hold your applause until the end): Husbands (1970), The Hospital (1971), The Candidate (1972) and The Friends of Eddie Coyle (1973); he also had a hand in Mikey and Nicky (for which principal photography took place in 1973 and 1974). The screenplay, closely based on actual events, was written by Frank Pierson, and, never to be underestimated are the contributions of legendary editor DeDe Allen. Arthur Penn’s go-to cutter was just coming off Night Moves (1975), and her work shines here. Dog Day Afternoon is a film of impeccable pacing—fast and energetic as the occasion often calls, but capable of slowing things down for crucial moments.
The players is also generally outstanding, led by Al Pacino, who had a hand in the casting—and he drew heavily from his collaborators in the Off Broadway theater community. Most notably, he sold Lumet on his partner in crime, John Cazale, even though the actor was considerably older than the character as envisioned. Cazale, in a career cut tragically short, was one of the great actors of his cohort, familiar to most as Fredo from the Godfather films, and to New Hollywood nerds as Stan from The Conversation. The fine cast also includes Charles Durning as the local cop nominally in charge (and, to our eyes, he brings some humanity to his role), and James Broderick, as the quietly ominous fed who lingers in the background, and is suggestive of a more malevolent manifestation of authority.
Dog Day Afternoon tells the story of a botched back robbery, as Sonny (Pacino) and Sal (Cazale) find themselves quite quickly in over their heads. The bank doesn’t actually have much cash on hand, and the building is swiftly surrounded by an impossibly oversized army of police officers. A siege ensues, which quickly devolves into a media circus. Matters are complicated further by the mixed emotions of the nominal hostages (due to some combination of Stockholm Syndrome dynamics, the obvious humanity Sonny, and the irrepressible charisma of Pacino—who, playing in the middle of his register, turns in a wide ranging, daring, and nuanced performance), as well as by Stan’s more menacing mental instability, and the palpable blood-lust of the scores of snipers set in place and itching to take their shot.
The New Hollywood bona-fides Lumet’s feature are impeccable, right down to its marvelous location work, scene setting (it’s Brooklyn out there), subtle documentary style, downbeat ending, and, of course, heapings of moral ambiguity. And the director had a lot to say, including a well handled gesture at implicit racism, a parasitic media presence that anticipates aspects of Network, and a rather jaundiced view of institutional authority in general and the NYPD in particular—a signature theme seen in perhaps a dozen of his features, including Serpico (1973), and, unsurpassed, Prince of the City (1981). In Dog Day, the crowd that assembles to witness the spectacle initially sides with Sonny as he emerges from the bank to negotiate, taunting the assembled legions of cops “Attica! Attica!” (a reference to the bloodbath associated with the suppression of that prison uprising).
But as Lumet emphasized in his excellent book, Making Movies, when he approaches a project, he always returns to an “all encompassing, critical discussion: What is the movie about?” For him, the key theme of Dog Day Afternoon was “freaks are not the freaks we think they are. We are much more connected to the most outrageous behavior than we know or admit.” Contemporary readers might squirm at the word “freaks”—but keep in mind that it was 1975 out there. And in the movie (and in real life) a principal motivation behind the robbery was that Sonny needed money for gender reassignment surgery for his lover (played by Chris Sarandon). Contemporary viewers might also find the movie somewhat cautious in its presentation of (then very transgressive) sexuality—the interaction between these lovers is limited to a powerful and wrenching phone conversation. Lumet reports the overwhelming emotional exhaustion both he and Pacino felt after shooting Sonny’s side of that scene, but the collaborators on the film decided at the time not to bring the two characters into the same physical space, which, it was feared, would have asked for more than the audience was willing to give.
It would be a mistake, however, to judge a 1975 movie on the basis of 2025 sensibilities. In its moment – and in addition to being a thrilling, intense, brilliantly executed drama – this was a film that was radical and daring and envelope-pushing in its progressive, humanistic sensibilities. You might think this is a movie about a bank robbery. And who would blame you? But as Lumet put it: “This was a movie in which I wanted the most emotionally moving moment to occur when Pacino is dictating his will before venturing outside the bank, when he’s almost certain that he’ll be killed. The will contained a beautiful and actual line, ‘And to Ernie, who I love as no man has ever loved a man, I leave . . .’ The goal of the whole picture was in making that line work. But could we do it?” If you haven’t seen Dog Day Afternoon, check it out, and decide for yourself. We think they do.
