On August 22, 1972, three doofus-desperados gracelessly descended on a Chase Bank branch in Gravesend, Brooklyn expecting to pull off a robbery. Things went pear-shaped pretty much immediately. One of them, utterly tripping balls, excused himself to catch the subway home. Also—minor detail—the vaults were conspicuously cash-free. When a battalion of trigger-happy police arrived outside, the would-be robbers, with an air of aggrieved resignation, opted to take the bank staff hostage.
These events famously inspired the film "Dog Day Afternoon," directed by Sidney Lumet and starring Al Pacino at his most manic and wild-eyed, which opened in cinemas in 1975—only three years after the real-life caper it was based on. By telling the story of John Stanley Joseph Wojtowicz, a man pushed to his breaking point, the film seemed to capture the tension and volatility of Drop Dead-era New York City, not to mention the simmering desperation of summer in the depths of Brooklyn.
And now, the incident has inspired "Dog Day Afternoon: The Play," currently playing at the August Wilson Theatre on Broadway. At first glance, Lumet’s film would seem a smart pick to receive the theatrical treatment, since much of it takes place in the pressure-cooker confines of the bank. But the core tension of the film arises from Sonny’s increasingly fiery exchanges with law enforcement, over the phone or in the street. Neither playwright Stephyn Adly Guigris nor the director Rupert Goold have come up with a theatrical solution for sustaining much excitement in these scenes—and more often, they bring the proceedings to a sputtering halt.
In the play's most engaging scene, Sonny, the crim with a heart of gold played by Jon Bernthal in flared trousers, riles up the crowd. For a few moments, the audience is transformed into civilian gawkers, rubbernecking to enjoy the showdown between a charismatic antihero and the NYPD.
After Sonny gets everyone chanting the film's iconic line "Attica! Attica!"—a reference to the 1971 prison uprising where state authorities unleashed a barrage of gunfire on inmates—he tosses a handful of dummy banknotes into the orchestra section (ticket price: $440) with a flourish and a grin.