Honey Don't!

When you're one half of possibly the most influential and revered filmmaking teams working today, you get certain privileges. Chief amongst them is the ability to make whatever crazy passion project you want, and the freedom to ignore its middling reception. To that end, director Ethan Cook and his wife/co-writer/editor Tricia Cooke have announced that Drive-Away Dolls was the start of a "lesbian B-movie trilogy", of which Honey Don't! is the second (the third, currently titled Go Beavers!, is due out next year). While the change of genre sets the two films apart, it's nonetheless identifiably the fruit of their collaboration. It's a comedy-forward homage to a classic genre starring Margaret Qualley as a lesbian who's horny (and sexy) as hell, putting on a wild accent while a huge male star plays a smaller role as a key bad guy intent on hiding his (hetero)sexual debauchery and power trip. Only this time, she lives alone, the dude is Chris Evans as the pastor of a cult-like splinter religion, and her accent is Philip Marlowe.

The energy is the same as last year's film, but instead of a meandering road movie we get a comedic hard-boiled detective film/sun-drenched neo-noir. Qualley plays Honey O'Donahue (what a name!), a private investigator in Bakersfield. She heads to the scene of a bad accident on a winding freeway, and keeps to herself that the victim (Mia, played by Kara Petersen) called her in a cold sweat the day before. A couple of conversations with those who knew the deceased leads her to Reverend Drew Devlin (Evans) and his Four-Way Temple, and also reveals the sexual demands he makes of his parishioners in the form of chain-link bondage gear. Rooting around brings her into contact with Officer MG Falcone (Aubrey Plaza), with whom she strikes up a passionate romance (of which Coen leaves nothing to the imagination). In the midst of all of this, we occasionally cut to Devlin's goons tying up loose ends that could shine a spotlight on their congregation. Oh, and we spend some time with Honey as she visits her sister Heidi (Kristen Connolly) and her many children, especially Corninne (Talia Ryder), whose disappearance will become a major plot point later.

Which is to say there's a whole hellova lot going on here. Coen attempts to keep us abreast of it all by showing us everything that's going on. But that just means we know things Honey don't for stretches of time, as well as some unimportant details she never discovers. It's not intended to be a tightly plotted version of the stories it's aping, but the scattershot approach gets hard to follow after a while. Especially since so little of the goings on end up being important, either to Honey's life or to her investigation. There are bits of texture with mild commentary that work for a solid joke, such as the inability of Detective Marty Metakawich (Charlie Day) to understand that Honey likes girls, and thus will turn down every single invitation for a drink he throws her way. But entire subplots could be lifted out without impacting the events on screen in a meaningful way. Much like PTA's Inherent Vice, while our protagonist does impact the plot, so much of it would play out the exact same without her involvement. She's a damn good investigator, easily the town's best, but with so many balls in play, she can't be expected to be on top of all of them.

Seemingly emboldened by Drive-Away Dolls, just about every single named character in the film is queer, with each exception serving some story purpose or making a point. Heidi is running on fumes due to the impossibility of raising her cadre of kids on her own. Marty is a lonely and inept sad sack, and Devlin is a self-important monster who...can't keep the days of the week straight, for some reason. That it's even a notable decision speaks to the importance of it, as well as Coen and Cooke's goal for this series. Despite the increasing acceptance of queer people in Hollywood and culture at large, that hasn't necessarily translated into representation on the silver screen. With this thematic trilogy, they're interested in telling stories set in a world where being queer is the norm, and thus is unimportant to the plot, while simultaneously being a fundamental aspect of the identity of their characters. There is no coding going on here; every aspect of the movie is unflinchingly and explicitly and proudly queer.

The somewhat odd result is that it doesn't seem to have all that much to say about...well, anything. Sure, it's obviously very anti-religion, and mildly skeptical of the value of cops, but that's about it. Nothing too incisive or all that fresh. By trying to tell a fairly cliched (if overcomplicated) neo-noir story, it misses the opportunity to use its unorthodox world to say much of anything about our treatment of straightness as the default.

There's not even all that much to say about the craftsmanship. The camerawork is fine, the score isn't all that memorable, and the compositions are pretty good but nothing special. But it's worth calling out the opening credits, which go absolutely bonkers in the best way. Each person's name is embedded in a sign or graffiti or some other part of the environment, giving us a tour of the town backed by a cover of "We Gotta Get Out of this Place", perfectly setting the tone while grabbing your attention with its fresh approach. There are moments of creativity outside of this five minute sequence, but they are sadly far and few between.

Through all of this, the brightest spot by a mile and a half is Margaret Qualley. She hurls herself into the role, easily embodying the physicality and style and intensity required to sell us on herself as a larger than life figure. She barely smiles, choosing instead to furrow her brow to accentuate her thoughts. She even owns the accent, big and goofy as it is, making it feel pretty natural despite the risk of it sliding into Elizabeth Holmes territory. The same cannot be said for all her co-stars: Evans is having a good deal of fun as Devlin, but Plaza's accent work cannot help but land stilted and forced, a fact not aided by how many scenes she shares with Qualley.

But this was never a movie that was destined to live and die by its performances. Rather, its screenplay was the crucial element, and it failed to deliver. While Coen and Cooke capably ape the genre, they can't get out of their own way when it comes to the plot, reducing the proceedings to a muddled mess. As with their earlier effort, it's not a complete disaster, despite its universal poor reception. There's skill on display here, that's for sure. But it seems to be obstructed by an insistence on not taking itself too seriously while also failing to focus. Maybe they'll figure it out as they bring this series to a close and move on to other projects, but so far, I'm not holding my breath.