Harold and Maude (1971)

Self-destructive and needy but wealthy teenager Harold is obsessed with death and spends his leisure time attending funerals, watching the demolition of buildings, visiting junkyards, simulating suicides trying to get the attention of his indifferent, snobbish and egocentric mother, and having sessions with his psychologist. When Harold meets the anarchic seventy-nine-year-old Maude at a funeral, they become friends and the old lady discloses other perspectives of the cycle of life for him. Meanwhile, his mother enlists him in a dating service and tries to force him to join the army. On the day of Maude's eightieth birthday, Harold proposes to her but he finds the truth about life at the end of hers.

Keywords: 1970s, actress, afi, alienation, ambulance, amputee, amusement-park, anti-conformity, anti-war-protest, art-model

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Harold: What were you fighting for?::Maude: Oh, big issues. Liberty. Rights. Justice. Kings died, kingdoms fell. I don't regret the kingdoms - what sense in borders and nations and patriotism? But I miss the kings.

Maude: I should like to change into a sunflower most of all. They're so tall and simple. What flower would you like to be?::Harold: I don't know. One of these, maybe.::Maude: Why do you say that?::Harold: Because they're all alike.::Maude: Oooh, but they're *not*. Look. See, some are smaller, some are fatter, some grow to the left, some to the right, some even have lost some petals. All *kinds* of observable differences. You see, Harold, I feel that much of the world's sorrow comes from people who are *this*,::[she points to a daisy]::Maude: yet allow themselves be treated as *that*.::[she gestures to a field of daisies]::[cut to a shot of a field of gravestones in a military cemetery]

Harold: I like you, Maude.::Maude: I like you, Harold.

Maude: A lot of people enjoy being dead. But they are not dead, really. They're just backing away from life. *Reach* out. Take a *chance*. Get *hurt* even. But play as well as you can. Go team, go! Give me an L. Give me an I. Give me a V. Give me an E. L-I-V-E. LIVE! Otherwise, you got nothing to talk about in the locker room.

Psychiatrist: Tell me, Harold, how many of these, eh, *suicides* have you performed?::Harold: An accurate number would be difficult to gauge.::Psychiatrist: Well, just give me a rough estimate.::Harold: A rough estimate? I'd say [savoring the thought] fifteen.::Psychiatrist: Fifteen?::Harold: That's a rough estimate.::Psychiatrist: Were they all done for your mother's benefit?::Harold: No. No, I would not say "benefit."

[seagulls fly across the sky]::Maude: Dreyfus once wrote from Devil's Island that he would see the most glorious birds. Many years later in Brittany he realized they had only been seagulls... For me they will always be - *glorious* birds.

Harold: You sure have a way with people.::Maude: Well, they're my species!

Harold: Do you... *enjoy*... knives?

Harold: Maude.::Maude: Hmm?::Harold: Do you pray?::Maude: Pray? No. I communicate.::Harold: With God?::Maude: With *life*.

Maude: Vice, Virtue. It's best not to be too moral. You cheat yourself out of too much *life.* Aim above morality. If you apply that to life, then you're bound to live life fully.