Hal Ashby's comedy is too dark and twisted for some, and occasionally oversteps its bounds, but there's no denying the film's warm humor and big heart.
The fact that [it] isn't very funny and, like its 80-year-old heroic, long outlives its necessary life, is less important than the fact that the characters frequently react gently or like credible human beings to the script's impossible notions.
The visual style makes everyone look fresh from the Wax Museum, and all the movie lacks is a lot of day-old gardenias and lilies and roses in the lobby, filling the place with a cloying sweet smell. Nothing more to report today.
Unlike claustrophobically cute odd-couple movies, bottles some of the flavour of its time. Harold's fake suicides are a pale defiance and reflection of his cloistered, sapped life. The vital counterculture (Maude) helps Harold avoid the army.