Cookie's Fortune Review
by James Sanford (jamessanford AT earthlink DOT net)May 9th, 1999
Imagine Tennessee Williams penning a script for NBC's Must See TV lineup and you'll have some idea of what director Robert Altman's "Cookie's Fortune" is like. Though Altman is best known for such incisive films as "Nashville," "The Player" and "Short Cuts," "Fortune" finds him in a mellow mood; it's a tale as easygoing and eccentric as its characters.
What the movie does have in common with most of Altman's other works is a mightily impressive cast, led by a delightfully batty Glenn Close, the sweetly low-key Julianne Moore and the terrific Charles Dutton, arguably the closest thing to a normal person Anne Rapp's screenplay can come up with. So skilled is Altman at bringing out the best from the people he works with that even the usually bland Liv Tyler and Chris O'Donnell don't seem out of their league acting alongside Close and Dutton. Though it's the screen equivalent of cotton candy, "Fortune" is made with a very high grade of sugar.
The story is set in Holly Springs, Miss., where the suicide of kooky Cookie Orcutt (Patricia Neal) triggers one sticky situation after another. First, her nieces Camille (Close) and Cora (Moore) rearrange evidence to make it look like Cookie was murdered since "nobody in this family commits suicide - it's a disgrace," huffs Camille.
Unfortunately, the women's meddling makes Cookie's old friend Willis (Dutton) the most likely suspect and spoils his plans to cook up some catfish enchiladas as a homecoming dinner for Emma (Tyler), a wanderer who's just returned to town after some hard times in the big city. Waiting for her with open arms is Jason (O'Donnell), a dopey but kind cop who is assisting in the investigation into Cookie's demise.
"Fortune" is practically a catalog of quirks, from Cookie's garish lavender sneakers and junk jewelery to Willis' protestation that he never drinks "before Tom Brokaw."
The presiding wacko is Camille, an amateur writer and director nervy enough to rewrite Oscar Wilde's "Salome" - and give herself a co-authorship credit - for a church production, and so demented she demonstrates Salome's Dance of the Seven Veils with a roll of toilet paper and moves into Cookie's house hours after discovering her body. "You'd think the police could at least take their stupid crime tape with them when they leave," she crabs as she tramples evidence under foot.
Altman's last film, the failed fashion industry expose "Ready To Wear," was crucified for its formlessness and self-indulgence, and from the evidence presented here, he must have taken those criticisms to heart. Though "Fortune" goes on a bit too long and includes a couple of running gags that wear thin, for the most part it's a tight little story that never leaves the audience behind. The lunacy proves surprisingly contagious.
James Sanford
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