Bud Cort: Harold Chasen

Harold and Maude

Harold Chasen

Harold: Maude?
Maude: Yeah?
Harold: [pulls the stamped coin from the arcade out of his pocket] Here.
Maude: A gift!
[reads the engraving]
Maude: "Harold loves Maude."... and Maude loves Harold. This is the nicest gift I've received in years.
[she throws the stamped coin into the water]
Harold: [gasps, bemused]
Maude: So I'll always know where it is.

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]
Maude: [cut to a shot of a field of gravestones in a military cemetery]

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]
Harold: 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."

Harold: You hop in any car you want and just drive off?
Maude: Well, not any car - I like to keep a variety. I'm always looking for the new experience.
Harold: [smiling] Maybe.
Harold: [more seriously] Nevertheless, I think you're upsetting people. I don't know if that's right.
Maude: Well, if some people get upset because they feel they have a hold on some things, I'm merely acting as a gentle reminder: here today, gone tomorrow, so don't get attached to things *now.* With *that* in mind, I'm not against collecting stuff.

Maude: [gesturing to a sick tree growing through a sidewalk] Harold, we have *got* to do something about this life.
Harold: What?
Maude: We'll transplant it. To the forest.
Harold: You can't do that.
Maude: Why not?
Harold: This is public property.
Maude: Well, *exactly*.

Psychiatrist: That's very interesting, Harold, and I think, very illuminating. There seems to be a definite pattern emerging. And, of course, this pattern, once isolated, can be coped with. Recognize the problem, and you are halfway on the road to its, uh, its solution. Uh, tell me, Harold, what do you do for fun? What activity gives you a different sense of enjoyment from the others? Uh, what do you find fulfilling? What gives you that... special satisfaction?
Harold: ...I go to funerals.

Maude: That was fun! Let's play something together.
Harold: I don't play anything.
Maude: Nothing? Dear me, everybody should be able to make some music. That's the cosmic dance.

Harold: So... you don't use the umbrella anymore?
[Maude does not hear him]
Harold: No more revolts?
Maude: [Maude is crying, and finally looks at Harold] Oh, yes! Every day. But I don't need a *defense* anymore. I embrace! Still fighting for the Big Issues, but now in my small, individual way.

Maude: [Maude is driving Harold's hearse through a cemetery] Hey, this old thing handles well! Ever drive a hearse Harold?
Harold: Yeah.
Maude: Well! It's a new experience for me!
[the hearse is seen squealing through a curve]
Maude: Good on curves! Shall I take you home Harold?
Harold: Uh, this is my car.
Maude: [looks at Harold] YOUR hearse?
Harold: Y'hearse!
Maude: Ohhhhhhhhhhhh!
[the hearse is seen screeching to a stop]
Maude: Then YOU shall take ME home!

Harold: This is definitely a new experience for me.
Maude: Oh, wonderful! Try something new each day. After all, we're given life to find it out. It doesn't last forever.

Harold: [non-sequitur to hawkish uncle] During war time, the national suicide rate goes down.