Review: Honey Don’t! | Houston Press

Title: Honey Don’t!

Describe This Movie Using One Simpsons Quote:

HOMER: This lesbian bar doesn’t have a fire exit! Enjoy your death trap, ladies.
WOMAN: What was her problem?

Brief Plot Synopsis: Bakersfield has a surprisingly high murder rate.

Rating Using Random Objects Relevant To The Film: 3 rosary beads out of 5.

Tagline: “She only has two desires, and one of them is justice.”

Better Tagline: “The other? Proper adult toy hygiene.”

Not So Brief Plot Synopsis: Bakersfield, CA private detective Honey O’Donahue (Margaret Qualley) has no reason to suspect foul play when a potential client dies in a seemingly innocuous traffic accident, but the more she digs, the more reasons for suspicion she finds. What was the deceased’s relationship to the charismatic Reverend Devlin (Chris Evans)? Will her nosing around threaten her budding relationship with BPD officer MG Falcone (Aubrey Plaza)? And does anyone in town know what’s up with that French chick on the moped?
“Critical” Analysis: Honey Don’t! is the second solo directorial feature for Ethan Coen, following Drive Away Dolls (also starring Qualley), and the middle entry in what he and co-writer Tricia Cooke envision as a trilogy of “lesbian B-movies.” Their first entry had more of an absurdist caper sensibility to it, but both movies aren’t kidding around with the lesbian part.

Honey, it must be said, is a much cooler customer than Dolls’ Jamie, and Coen and Qualley continue to demonstrate quite the rapport. She glides through HD!’s occasionally uneven storyline with an aplomb at odds with the, frankly, Coen-esque supporting characters around her and the washed out environs of Bakersfield.

Ethan Coen and brother Joel, after all, are no stranger to noir (Blood Simple, Miller’s Crossing, The Man Who Wasn’t There). They just refuse to set them in the expected Gotham surroundings. Honey Don’t! is no different, with the blinding sun and exaggerated(?) grime of California’s Central Valley serving as backdrop for the unsavory shenanigans.

And it has an unreal and almost anachronistic quality to it. Yes, people carry smartphones, and yes, the niece’s asshole boyfriend has a MAGA sticker on his truck, but Qualley — despite her character being from Bakersfield — is like an alien walking about humans in stilettos and high-waisted slacks. Honey is what you’d get if Raymond Chandler wrote Philip Marlow as a “dame.” And hornier.

What’s most interesting (and probably irritating to some) is how seemingly major plotlines are teased but ultimately dumped as unceremoniously as I usually was in high school. We know Devlin is mixed up with some French heavies, for example, but just when you think you see where it’s going, Coen and Cooke pull le tapis right out from under you.

Speaking of that, it’s hard to believe Qualley and Plaza have never been in a movie together before. The latter tends to get shoehorned into roles that focus on her inscrutable expression and natural sarcasm. Falcone lets Plaza expand that palette a bit, and she provides an intriguing complement to Qualley’s deadpan demeanor.

And as much as you may not want to hand it to a guy who looks like Chris Evans, he’s shown a great knack for playing scumbags (Knives Out, Red One, Pain Hustlers). Reverend Devlin continues that trend, further proving Evans’ ability to pivot from America’s Ass to simply an American ass.

I did like Honey Don’t!, just not as much as I wanted to. Qualley is a force, but the end result of Honey and MG’s relationship comes out of nowhere, and Devlin makes for an unworthy adversary. Charlie Day’s doofus homicide detective is a bright spot, and Coen and Cooke don’t shy away from sex or gore. I just wish it stuck the landing better.

Honey Don’t! is in theaters today.