Michael, Donald and Harold are good friends, Harold's birthday is coming, Michael and Donald are going to throw a hilarious birthday party for him at their Greenwich Village apartment. At this time, Michael's middle school classmate Alan called. He wanted to see Michael immediately, but Michael was worried that Alan's arrival would affect other people's emotions. The invited guests arrived one after another. During the banquet, Michael made a suggestion: Why not play a game? It's a game about the phone, and everyone might as well give their most loved one a call. So, Pandora's box is opened.
The Boys in the Band movie plot
2022-10-11 15:11
Extended Reading
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Harold: I'm having seconds, and thirds, and maybe even fifths. I'm absolutely desperate to keep the weight up.
Michael: You're absolutely paranoid, about absolutely everything.
Harold: Oh yeah? Well, why don't you *not* tell me about it
Michael: You starve yourself all day, living on coffee and cottage cheese, so that you can gorge yourself at one meal. And then you feel guilty, and moan and piss about how fat you are and how ugly you are, when the truth is you are no fatter and no thinner than you ever are. And this pathological lateness, it's downright crazy. Standing in front of a bathroom mirror for hours and hours before you can walk out into the street, and then looking no different, after Christ knows how many applications of Christ knows how many ointments and salves and creams and masks.
Harold: I've got bad skin, what can I tell you.
Michael: Who wouldn't, after they deliberately take a pair of tweezers and deliberately mutilate their pores. No wonder you've got holes in your face after the hack-job you've done on yourself, year in and year out.
Harold: You hateful sow.
Michael: Yes, you've got scars on your face, but they're not that bad. And if you'd leave yourself alone, you wouldn't have more than you've already awarded yourself.
Harold: You'd really like me to compliment you now, for being so honest, wouldn't you? For being my best friend, who will tell me what even my best friends won't tell me. Slut.
Michael: And the pills. Harold has been gathering and storing and saving up barbiturates for the past year, like a goddamn squirrel. Hundreds of Nembutals, hundreds of Seconals, all in preparation for and in anticipation of the long winter of his death. Well I'll tell you something, Hally. When the time comes, you won't have the guts. It's not always like it happens in plays, not all faggots bump themselves off at the end of the story.
Harold: What you say may be true. Time will undoubtedly tell. In the meantime, you left out one detail. The cosmetics and astringents are paid for. The bathroom is paid for. The tweezers are paid for. And the pills are paid for.
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Harold: And they're minding their own business.
Michael: And you mind yours Harold! I'm warning you!
Harold: Are you now? You warning me? Me? I'm Harold. I'm the one person you don't warn, Michael, because you and I are a match. And we tread very softly with each other, because we both play each other's game too well. I know this game, you're playing. I know it very well, and I play it very well. You play it very well too, but you know what? I'm the only one who's better at it than you are. I can beat you at it, so don't push me. I'm warning you.