Ethan Coen and Tricia Cooke’s Drive-Away Dolls was messy but chaotically charming. Margaret Qualley and Geraldine Viswanathan’s infectious (anti)chemistry held the shenanigans together even when everything appeared as if it would topple down in absurdity. They also had excellent support from Beanie Feldstein, Colman Domingo, Joey Slotnick, and Matt Damon. The movie wasn’t a critical hit, but it garnered enough of a fan base (including myself) to let the buzz around Honey Don’t! build a hive. Especially when Aubrey Plaza was cast with Margaret Qualley. With Ethan and Tricia on script duties, Tricia editing, and the brilliant Ari Wegner as DoP, and Ethan directing; the “throwback” film soleil set in Bakersville, California held promise. Ari Wegner can certainly take a bow because Honey Don’t is gloriously shot and looks the part. However, almost everything else in the movie is incomplete. From the mystery, the satire, the characterisation, the pace, there is so little that gels. If something does work, it is a small jolt in an otherwise “first draft” effort.
After the scene setting credits accompanied by ‘We Gotta Get Out of This Place’ showing Bakersfield in recession with shuttered businesses lining the streets. Oil rigs drilling, some local landmarks, and a Californian city that exudes ‘salt-of-the-earth’ conservatism. The billboards and bus advertisements for The Four-Way Church (the free path to faith) only stand out because the pastor of the group, Reverend Drew Devlin, is a toothy Chris Evans. Someone also stands out, a woman with a sharp bob and a leopard print bikini top and pants walking down a hill to inspect a car accident. The driver is dead; the radio is on and playing gospel. The woman (Russian actor Lera Abova) pulls a ring with the Four-Way Temple symbol off the hand of the woman in the crash. She then gets on her moped and later stops for a naked swim in a lake. I waited in vain for a further touch of Russ Meyer in the movie. Quel dommage, the woman is French and entirely too chic to brawl with other catsuited vixens.
The next shot sets up the defining characteristic of the protagonist, Honey O’Donahue: the private detective is a commitment phobic lesbian who hits it and quits it. Her first scene is telling a woman to get out of her bed post-sex. Honey doesn’t have second dates. So, later when she breaks the rule it’s both atypical and noteworthy. She’s also a lesbian in a GOP stronghold and needs to repeat the fact to unbelieving men. Qualley’s character introductions: personal, professional, and social are so drearily underwritten that by the time she’s doing something beyond the key register monotone dryness it’s mostly wasted on an audience wondering if they have the energy to care. Honey O’Donahue—hot, sexy, no nonsense, lesbian investigator. L-E-S-B-I-A-N. In most cases having an impeccably dressed, vintage car driving, surprisingly agile in all things, justice driven queer character fronting a sweaty neo-noir would be irresistible for me and so many others. Also written in part by a queer woman and featuring one of the lithest and of-the-moment actors in the States as said protagonist… catnip. How did Honey Don’t! get Honey so wrong? I’ll get to it… in detail.
Honey attends the crash scene where Charlie Day’s police detective Max Metakawitch asks if the driver was one of Honey’s clients and if she agrees with his assessment that she’s dead. “No,” says Honey answering the first question which Max replies that she looks very dead to him (this “joke” will be used about four times). Max flirts uselessly with Honey asking why she’s there. She asks why homicide is at the scene of a routine crash (a question not really answered in the narrative). When Honey finds out that the driver Mia Novotny had called her for a consultation, she becomes part of an investigation that leads her from a car accident to The Four-Way Temple and the various peccadillos of Drew Devlin and the real money making behind the façade. It also leads Honey to police officer MG (Mary Grace) Falcone (Aubrey Plaza) and a budding semi-romance.
The one emotional factor that keeps Honey in Bakersville is her sister Heidi (Kristen Connolly) and her four (soon to be five) kids. The eldest is rebellious goth/grunge-coded teen, Corinne (Talia Ryder) and the current youngest is Dizzy (Jude Atencil) who is smitten with his aunt and horrified to find out about menstruation and that it also happens to Honey (“a bloodbath!”). Honey and Heidi’s mom passed away and their father left the family, with physical violence against his wife and daughters as his legacy.
The men who fathered Heidi’s children are multiple and absent. Honey is there not to judge or comment as she’s warned by Heidi not to say anything about her choices or parenting skills. Honey subtly helps with finances. Corinne stomps past her mother to get into her boyfriend Mickie’s (Alexander Carstoiu) pick-up, telling her she’s staying with him for the night. Heidi doesn’t fight it although she wants to. What can Heidi say that won’t be used to undermine and shame them both?
There’s no satirical surprise in the ‘Tax free religious sect with a compound on their land makes money from illegal sources’ narrative that runs parallel to Honey’s investigation. The trailer shows the good Reverend engaged with his women parishioners in “submitting passion” light fetish wear sex. Chris Evans, still considered one of the sexiest contemporary celebrities, does an effective impression of an idiotic narcissist. An idiot who lacks the charisma to make it feasible that Devlin is in charge of the temple beyond using it as a sex cult. The woman from the opening scene, Cher, warns that the secular French funding the temple’s illegal ungodly pursuits are not happy with anything that can bring the law to Four-Way’s door. Nevertheless, along with his lunkhead Australian muscle, Shuggie (Josh Pafchek), Devlin is ordering hits and conspicuous “manna” dealing. It’s a Coen staple in their black comedy crime films that at least one hitman/hire/accomplice is in way over their heads. Usually, it’s hubris or unchecked greed. Shuggie is simply a pliant drongo who is a perplexing presence as a sober fitness guy a long way from the surfing Jesus ministry he’s styled for.
There’s innocent blood spilled and exploitation-styled fighting. The sometimes themes about GOP and MAGA worker drones being similarly indoctrinated to a sex-cult, narcotics supplying “ministry” that Cooke and Coen pick up and drop at will render the violence and the side plot cumbersome and purposeless. An act of “gay panic” turns into slapstick slaughter after an inexperienced and young Hispanic Temple congregant’s drug deal goes wrong. The movie decides to leave it up to the audience to try out different inferences for why Hector (Jacnier) who lives with his abuela would be a part of Devlin’s flock. So far, every reason I can conjure in my limited Australian mind is not good. If I’m overthinking a carelessly put together movie it’s because sloppiness is the engine on which Coen and Cooke have chosen to power their work.
The Four-Way temple almost always interacts tangentially with Honey’s investigation. An irritating client played by Billy Eichner whose cheating boyfriend was the victim of the above murder. A coincidence known only to the audience serving to reiterate that Honey dislikes loud emotional displays and neediness, something already established and thus a weak comedy “bit” for Eichner and a case never opened by Honey now closed. It all comes down to the deceased Mia’s never articulated fears about the danger she’s in that the police can’t help her with. The PI meets Devlin. Knowing about the fetish gear under the temple robes is enough for Honey to expect hypocrisy. But a three-minute conversation between the two (the only shared scene) has the “priest” trying so hard to get into Honey’s pants that he reveals his malleable relationship with ‘Christ’ and his godhead penis delusions. Honey’s retorts to Devlin’s unending dribble of heterosexism have surely been memed previously and I’m fairly sure that I have socks with wittier shut-it-down responses than what Margaret Qualley’s gorgeous gay gumshoe is afforded by a Generation X, SoCal raised queer woman and a Coen brother!
Drew Devlin types and the “freedom of Christian belief in America” are lower hanging fruit than the “sex and drugs scandal” of Coen and Cooke’s 90s set Drive-Away Dolls. An ever-relevant conversation America should be having about using religion as a shield to harm others (the queer community, women, the young, the poor) is reduced to a performance Chris Evans doesn’t quite manage with a couple of scene and line exceptions, and a red herring that in its stylised comedic absurdity obscures both the mystery and the role it played in the development of other characters.
Not everything is terribly handled in Honey Don’t. There are scenes that are clever and if one is able to tune out the lumpen script sabotaging itself for a moment or two, some of the swings connect. Honey’s visit to Mia’s parents (Sean Dillingham and Kinna McInroe) is a well written example of ordinary and pernicious dysfunction in a family home. Mia’s mother tries to answer Honey’s questions but is declared pre-emptively useless by her husband, Ray who yells from the next room. She genuinely responds to Honey, still in shock and grieving. A question about Mia ever taking the bus instead of driving causes offence. No Novotny would ever stoop so low as to take a bus. They’re homeowners, they own their house, not like “those others.” Who the others are is left open (again) but with Kern County dealing with a housing crisis which is mentioned more than once during the movie, the rental property tenants who pay massively inflated prices or the people employed in the area who live in Southern California or the Bay area who commute are the most likely targets.
Aubrey Plaza’s signature blasé screen persona is the right tone for MG as a cop in a precinct that promotes clueless and lazy men like Max to detective while she works in basement records window. Plaza adds a touch of vulnerability to MG as what began as a Honey hookup with the rules understood turns into a possible friendship and/or romance. Both of which are complications Honey has avoided. Honey and MG are simpatico in their long-practiced indifference to, or disdain for, any form of dependence. Plaza has nonchalance distilled into effortlessness that extends to Qualley’s chemistry with her. The audience is hooked almost immediately; investing in them as lovers, partners, and detectives which is essential for the movie to function in as much as it occasionally does.
Corinne goes missing which leads to the best scene in the movie featuring Honey at her fiercest, funniest, and fed up, against Mickie who beat(s) Corinne. Honey confronts him while searching for her niece. Straight, white, gun toting, MAGA male thinks he has the upper hand with Honey, grabbing her violently and calling her a cunt. Spelling correction of “Aunt” provided by Honey and the teachable moment that men who beat women and threaten them with abuse are whimpering cowards—not only when they come across a woman who can roundly and easily physically best them, but also in their entire pathetic notion of manhood. Not subtle, but that’s not a descriptor that applies often to the film.
The question I keep returning to is what is Honey Don’t trying to achieve? As a mystery it fails woefully in pacing, purpose, and throws out a reveal that distastefully snuffs out any remaining hope you might have been holding on to that Cooke and Coen were keeping a grace note up their sleeves.
If it’s trying to satirise the conservative working class and the political backwardness of an area that is agricultural and oil-rich that’s already dealing with all the stuff involved with late-stage capitalism and a collapsing country… it’s insufferable. If it’s going the other way to make a point about liberals breaking covenant with people who aren’t in lockstep with everything they believe; I can only ardently hope that wasn’t what Coen and Cooke wanted and the reason that’s a consideration is more to do with the eye-watering incoherence and inconsistency of the plot.
If it’s meant to be an homage to B-grade exploitation films, it is not lurid enough nor is it shocking. Titillation levels are mild. The genre-set queer empowerment is miles away from revolutionary. Honey is no Coffy, Cleopatra Jones, or Foxy Brown. A horny lesbian PI who washes her anal beads and strap-on in the kitchen sink with dishwashing detergent is not spicy or transgressive enough for cult appreciation or status.
The Chanel wearing mysterious French fixer, Cher, is recognisable as partially styled Uma Thurman in Tarantino’s Pulp Fiction. Mia Wallace, her black bob, white low buttoned shirt, and cigarette pants already a femme fatale ripped from movies and the paperbacks referenced in the title. Other Cher outfits include a silver sequinned number which catches Honey’s attention but not her suspicion). A top to toe deep red pool side ensemble, and a Russian Nicholas II empire styled blouse as dress with over the knee boots which could be a hint to her “real” background—but again that’s likely me grasping at straws because I want Honey Don’t! to be smarter than it is. I want to know what choices were made beyond “sexy foreign assassin is sexy even when riding an obviously out of place moped in Bakersville,” if any at all. At any rate, Cher’s exotic and expensive clothing and close-ups on her pulling on her leopard skin bikini bottoms isn’t more than a facile tease that if you really squint there’s a touch of Meyer, Doris Wishman, and Jack Hill in the movie. Same applies to the vanilla fetish wear favoured by Drew Devlin for his supplicant threesomes.
The costume department is doing most of the “throwback” fashion work with tasteful flares and seamed stockings and heels for Honey. Honey is also partial to soft floral wrap dresses and is (apparently) alarmingly sexually dominant despite knowing what lipstick she prefers. It’s almost as if gender presentation and sexuality aren’t the same thing and it’s for Honey Don’t to take on the responsibility of filmic representation of “power femmes” — but this time shaped like Margaret Qualley. Aubrey Plaza wears a uniform, no lipstick, and third billing, which is to say nothing that clashes with Qualley’s styling. Devoting as many words to wardrobe as I have likely says an equal amount about me digging through whatever I can to ascribe meaning to the movie as much as it speaks to how surface and how smug it is when formulating its queerness.
Which leads to the query, is Honey Don’t concerned about queerness? The film makes a big deal about Honey’s lesbianism; it’s not an organic reveal where the audience is given the information about Honey’s sexuality and it’s a part of her that we expect to encounter. In a character introduction of “here is a male detective who likes the company of hot women, great whiskey, vintage cars, and well-fitting clothes” the audience would read that the PI is confident and rightly so because he is good at what he does and he’s a reliable protagonist. We then anticipate the story. Honey’s story is fetishistically concerned with her queerness. By fetish I’m not referring to the brief sex scenes that show flashes of Honey and MG’s use of dildos, handcuffs, or whatever pleasure enhancers she keeps near her bed. What I’m pointing out is that Honey’s lesbianism is brought up in some way in at least three-quarters of the scenes she is in.
In key scenes Honey’s sexuality is germane to the plot. Her relationship with MG. Her past when mentioned briefly. Her open dynamic with her sister and niece and nephews. And the constant telling a fellow professional, Max, that she likes girls so he’s wasting his time trying to get her to date him.
What isn’t about Honey’s lesbianism is that she craves casual sex. Her actual job. Her mostly misanthropic outlook on people. Her approach to how she does her investigation. Her femininity. Her distaste for displays of emotion. Her not wanting her casual lovers getting attached or expecting more. Her sense of right and wrong. Her wearing ridiculous shoes to a crime scene. Her trust issues. Her sense of humour. Her odd interactions with her assistant. Being a pretty solid shot. But with the way Coen and Cooke write Honey, and the editing and framing of sequences, everything she has done and will do is because of the “hot lesbian whose body is off limits to men” trope/trap which means she’s under more scrutiny from them, and the body must be claimed by sexual preference(s) to be seen as autonomous.
Sure, Honey Don’t! is a comedy and not a treatise on sexuality; it’s pleasing for an unspecified cohort of viewers to watch beautiful actors play with representing queerness in genre films. People will of course pick apart my points with contrary and valid arguments. There will be those who will argue that Honey Don’t! stands for the mainstream studios embracing queer content. And in the same news cycle as Snoop Dogg, friend and business partner of convicted felon Martha Stewart, and a famed poet stated he was, as a grown man, afraid to go to the cinema because his children might be forced to see two moving female shaped drawings—in a prequel animation to a series of movies about toys with opinions—kiss. Don’t we need more Honey? Don’t we need more posters with a tagline: “She only has two desires, and one of them is justice”? Maybe we do; and also maybe we can admit that if Honey wasn’t Margaret Qualley shaped, caring about a creation who prefers index cards on a Rolodex to a computer as “detective process” is a lot harder to manage.
If you’re happy enough with the prospect of seeing Plaza and Qualley make out, then more power to you. That image can be used by your brain however you like as you paid to see it. That it’s contained in a movie that can’t overcome multiple failures such as the god-awful screenplay and hugely wrong-headed decision for “the real culprit…” reveal is the other price you pay.
Honey Don’t! is a movie that scuppers itself in a bewildering number of ways. How can one of the defining luminaries of the caper genre steer a project straight into a wall of bad choices? Ethan Coen, please, stop writing screenplays with crayons because broad and undefined juvenilia masquerading as a movie is the true don’t!
Director: Ethan Coen
Cast: Margaret Qualley, Aubrey Plaza, Chris Evans
Writers: Ethan Coen, Tricia Cooke
Producers: Tim Bevan, Ethan Coen, Tricia Cooke, Eric Fellner, Robert Graf
Composer: Carter Burwell
Cinematographer: Ari Wegner
Editors: Tricia Cooke, Emily Denker
Screening or Streaming Availability:
