Cookie's Fortune

Robert Altman can be many things. He can be warped, sarcastic, biting — but he can also be affectionate and understanding. His best films often combine these characteristics with slippery perfection, especially when putting the satirical "The Player" or the balmy "Thieves Live Us" into consideration. I, however, prefer him when he's gazing upon his characters with head-shaking fondness. Certainly, "Cookie's Fortune" isn't comprised of saintly characters — but unlike "Short Cuts" or "Nashville", only a few of the players are wholeheartedly f-cked up, giving us less time to analyze potentially devilish psyches and more to relish the tight, almost familial bonds between the ever compelling characters. It's one of his most impeccably entertaining films.

Set in a minuscule Southern town defined by colorful people, sweaty heat, and catfish, in that order, "Cookie's Fortune" details the sudden death of Jewel Mae "Cookie" Orcutt (Patricia Neal), an elderly widow tired of living alone and tired of her mundane life. So without much thought, she grabs a gun out of her impressive arms closet, flops onto her bed, places a pillow over her face, and shoots herself in the head.

Her niece, Camille (Glenn Close), won't have it. A wannabe playwright with a fondness for cranking up her every emotion by a few thousand notches, she is disgusted by her aunt's carelessness: it will bring shame upon the family, and, most notably, it may even upstage her upcoming play. Consumed with dramatic audacity, she arrives at the scene and decides it would be best to make the suicide actually look like a murder: why not? She runs around the house pretending she's a giallo fiend, breaking windows, stealing valuables, eventually running out the back and throwing the gun into some bushes like Joan Crawford might have during her 1950s-set film noir years. She persuades her dimwitted sister, Cora (Julianne Moore), to go along with the charade, not realizing that covering up a suicide isn't just some cutesy thing mercurial nieces do for fun. It could lead to, you know, trouble.

Immediately, Cookie's best friend and confidant, Willis (Charles S. Dutton), is locked up at the local sheriff's office under suspicion, Cora's estranged daughter, Emma (Liv Tyler), keeping him company while also utilizing the opportunity to have closet sex with her cop boyfriend (Chris O'Donnell) to pass the time. No one, including the men who arrested Willis in the first place, believe he's the murderer — which casts further suspicion onto Cookie's weirdo nieces.

But "Cookie's Fortune" isn't a conventional crime movie, preferring to use its titular figure's sudden offing as a way of throwing the Mississippi set town off course and seeing how its residents handle the travesty. Anne Rapp's screenplay always retains a certain sort of comic lushness that makes the intersecting situations ceaselessly delightful while also maintaining a sort of broad realism. These people certainly could exist — not all realism based films have to be dirt-on-the-ground miserable — and "Cookie's Fortune" is all the more fun for it. Close is a bundle of laughs, delivering off-color lines like an unintentional comedy pro, Neal ensuring why Cookie was such a vital part of her town's life. Dutton is one of Altman's sweetest scene-stealers, and Tyler, in a terrific performance, is a consistent pleasure as a free-spirit that seasons the oft conservative setting of the film.

Most consider "Cookie's Fortune" to be minor Altman, but I think it's underrated Altman. He regularly goes deep with his films, finding ways to mirror the lives of his flawed characters with our own. But "Cookie's Fortune" is such a delicacy because it's breezy, amusing without any existential kinks. He sets scenes with a sort of nostalgic reverie, figuring that small town America isn't all "Twin Peaks" and can still preserve the same sort of complicated magic of a '70s era sitcom. We watch the characters converse wanting to be a part of their community, either because the friendships seem everlasting or because the disdainfulness is comical rather than harmful. Most would want to get out of the town "Cookie's Fortune" sets itself in right away — not me. I'd like to hole up there for a while, collect my thoughts and have conversation about the good things in life instead of the high drama that shapes the metropolises of America. Lightweight Altman may not be everyone's favorite, but I tend to prefer a grizzled filmmaker when he's enjoying himself. So maybe "Cookie's Fortune" is an accidental masterpiece — it's an underrated moment in his lustrous career.

It's hard to believe a film this sunny came from Robert Altman, and is also this good, but there you go. While I love some of his films, like M*A*S*H, MCCABE AND MRS. MILLER, NASHVILLE, THE PLAYER, and SHORT CUTS, there are times when I feel he has a fundamental contempt for his subject matter, like in THE LONG GOODBYE and POPEYE, and for his characters. But while this movie, well-written by Anne Rapp, is essentially a Tennessee Williams drama turned inside out (Glenn Close's character is the only one who seems like a refugee from Williams territory), we instead feel a great deal for each of the characters. Even Close's Camille, whose machinations end up in the temporary jailing of an innocent man for a crime that never was, is somewhat likable.

When Altman is on, we really get a sense of community and place, as opposed to movies which are just a triumph of production design, and this is no exception. The best example of this is how Lester(Ned Beatty), a deputy sheriff, sums up his reasons for why Willis(Charles S. Dutton), that innocent man referred to earlier, is innocent of killing Cookie(Patricia Neal); "I fished with him." In another movie, that line of reasoning would be ridiculous, but since you feel all of these people have known each other for years, it seems just right. And the rhythms of the town feel right as well, so you don't feel like you're just watching a filmed set.

Casting has always been a hallmark of Altman films, and this one is no different. Charles S. Dutton is as good as they say, being more restrained than usual, Close shows great comic timing in her role, and Julianne Moore is very good as her put-upon younger sister, who has a lot more to her than meets the eye. And Altman regulars like Beatty and Lyle Lovett are quite good as well. The most surprising turns came from Liv Tyler and Chris O'Donnell. I've liked Tyler before(in HEAVY, EMPIRE RECORDS, and THAT THING YOU DO!), but to imagine her with shorn hair playing a rebel who skins fish for a living was a bit much, to say the least, but she's utterly convincing. O'Donnell has always seemed too callow, but here he's quite funny as a deputy sheriff who's seen way too many cop shows. And he and Tyler have nice chemistry together.

What would it have been like had Tennessee Williams -- for some unfathomable reason -- been hired to write a script for "The Andy Griffith Show?" This is hardly a pressing question for either amusement or intellectual debate, but the answer would surely be something very much like Robert Altman's COOKIE'S FORTUNE.

This is undoubtedly Altman's most accessible and likable effort. It is set in Holly Springs, Mississippi, but it could just as easily be Mayberry, North Carolina. Both are in a fantasy world just north of Sitcomville and across the ridge from Capratown. In Altman fashion, Holly Springs is populated with variety of oddball folk, but in contradiction to Altman tradition, they mostly tend to be free of cynicism and malice. Andy, Opie, Barney and Aunt Bee would feel right at home. Indeed, there is even a town jail where the cell doors are left unlocked, all the better to allow visitors to come and go as they please.

The hypothetical contribution by Tennessee Williams is nonetheless apparent as well. There is a murder mystery, a suicide, a bit of gore, a dash of sex, some racial consciousness and Glenn Close, whose character might be a second cousin to Blanche DuBois. But these elements of dark and twisted madness aren't all that removed from the cheerful eccentricity that is a trademark of fictional smalltown America. As such, COOKIE'S FORTUNE falls somewhere between SHADOW OF DOUBT and THE GHOST AND MR. CHICKEN in its representation of bucolic life; there is a cheerful silliness to the characters, but tragedy darkens the edges just a tad.

No one would ever accuse Altman of being the sentimental type. His screen career has consisted largely of taking pot shots at the American landscape, aiming to reveal hypocrisy behind everything from patriotism to idealism, with his preferred vehicle of deconstruction being the conventions of various movie genres. He has taken a wrecking ball to everything from the backstage musical to film noir to westerns to sci-fi. Yet he approaches the Capraesque vision of smalltown American with a gentle good humor, refraining from indulging in either parody or satire. COOKIES FORTUNE is probably the only Altman film where the characters are characters, i.e., loopy individuals, not archetypes to be debunked or mocked. I'm an admirer of Altman's films, but I have to admit that I am hard pressed to think of any other instance where I felt actual affection for any of his characters.

Alas, Altman's visit to Holly Springs is no doubt a side trip in the director's journey from one "important" film to the next. A chance to stretch his legs a bit before getting back to the serious business of showing how corrupt the world is. That's a shame, because Holly Springs is a right nice little place to visit.

Throughout the long trajectory of his career, Robert Altman was known for interweaving multiple plots and characters within the context of a given theme. Think the brotherhood of the country music community in "Nashville" or the detachment of contemporary California life in "Short Cuts." But in 1999, Altman tried something a bit unique – he directed a motion picture with a plot. One plot. One story. A comparatively small cast of characters. It was called, "Cookie's Fortune," and it's this month's Buried Treasure.

With a clever screenplay by Anne Rapp, "Cookie's Fortune" tells the story of Willis (Charles S. Dutton), a handyman wrongly accused of murder in a small Mississippi town. His widowed employer (Patricia Neal) commits suicide at the outset, and her daughters decide to disguise the shooting as a murder in a vain attempt to preserve the family's reputation. Since Willis had just cleaned the widow's guns the night before, his fingerprints are all over them. And there you have the most plot structure you'll ever find in an Altman film.

What follows this sullen and morose setup is Altman's funniest picture since "M*A*S*H" in 1970. You see, everyone in the town knows Willis couldn't possibly commit murder. The jailer (a young Chris O'Donnell) consistently leaves the cell door open, and the sheriff (a fantastic Ned Beatty) plays cards with him – in the cell! You see, Beatty's character knows Willis is innocent because, "I've fished with him" – which seems to be his quintessence test for everyone he knows.

But, as in every Altman film, there's one character who doesn't quite fit. One who takes things more seriously than the others. Remember how pathetically dangerous Robert Duvall's Major Frank Burns seemed in "M*A*S*H" (as opposed to the maniacal buffoon Larry Linville played on the long-running television series)? It was as though the Major Burns character walked on the set from another movie – just to give the audience a jolt; to let us know this is war, and war is real.

In "Cookie's Fortune," Glenn Close plays Camille, the theatrical and mildly deranged daughter of the deceased – a slightly more comical version of her wicked turn in "Fatal Attraction." Camille is the smartest character in the picture, but she's also the one who doesn't belong; the one who, in a panic attack, might just turn this lovable comedy into a dreary exercise in unhinged madness. Fortunately, Altman is a skilled enough director to not allow this to happen, but my does he dangle it closely (pun intended). Had Glenn Close played her role ever so slightly more unsettled, the entire film would have been ruined. Altman walks a fine line allowing Camille to exaggerate her pomposity, but then her function seems to be to remind us that this is murder, and murder is real.

Still, Altman never loses sight of the fact that "Cookie's Fortune" is a comedy, dark though it may be. The script is peppered with well-drawn characters, and the acting is first-rate – particularly Ned Beatty as the sheriff, and also Liv Tyler as Camille's desperado niece, whose boyfriend just so happens to be Chris O'Donnell's maladroit jailer. Altman is a master handling these intertwining characters, as he doles out information in small enough doses for us to completely process their connections, and for us to understand the soul of the town in which they regale.

Unfortunately, "Cookie's Fortune" was released during the spring doldrums – that period between the Oscars and the summer blockbusters, when the studios trot out the fare they don't think anyone will pay to see. By the time the Oscars rolled around that year, the talk was all about "Magnolia," "American Beauty," "The Cider House Rules," and "The Green Mile." "Cookie's Fortune" was simply a forgotten footnote to American cinema in 1999. And that's a shame. You need to seek out this one. It's funny, touching, and intelligent – and easily one of Robert Altman's ten best films.

"Cookie's Fortune" is a simple movie built upon a simple, though tragic incident.

Cookie Orcutt (Patricia Neal) was an old woman living alone. She had no apparent friends or family besides Willis Richland (Charles S. Dutton). The family she did have was estranged and she longed to be reunited with her husband Buck who had passed on. Cookie decided to end it all one day with a gun. When her niece Camille (Glenn Close) found her dead, she opted to make the suicide look like a homicide. While doing so she ordered her willing and docile sister Cora (Julianne Moore) to recite the story she gave her: it was a robbery and Aunt Cookie was killed. There were no obvious suspects except Willis and so we have drama.

I thought the movie was creative. Using a small Mississippi town with small town folks they wove an interesting story. Death by gunshot is news anywhere, but it is particularly big in a little place where everybody knows everybody. Add to the mix a meddling relative trying to make a suicide look like a murder and you've got something.

Glenn Close was brilliant, of course, playing the privileged, smug while demanding, Southern belle. And I think more laughs were generated when out-of-towner investigator Otis Tucker (Courtney B. Vance) came on the scene. I say, watch and watch until the end when more family mysteries are uncovered.