Ethan Coen’s second film with Tricia Cooke, Honey Don’t, is a tad more reserved than their previous collaboration, Drive-Away Dolls. That film covered two lesbians on the run, carrying a dildo-filled briefcase. The spiritual sequel follows Honey O’Donahue (Margaret Qualley) as she investigates a string of murders and a shadowy church. It’s your typical neo-noir: a girl dies, and the only evidence left behind is a church uniform and a set of lingerie. Honey’s infatuation with the victim leads her to take on the case. Detectives like Marty Metakawitch (Charlie Day), who cluelessly pines after the openly gay Honey, aren’t really equipped to solve this mystery. She isn’t like most of the gumshoes that make up noirs. She doesn’t self-deprecate; she’s assertive and well aware of her effect on other people. It’s her technique that gets so many to spill details they ordinarily wouldn’t.
One of the people that Honey stirs is a police officer, MG (Aubrey Plaza). Plaza channels her inner Gina Gershon for the role, sparking chemistry with Qualley during their shared screen time, and the relationship between Honey and MG powers Honey Don’t! Any success the film will have is based on the two leads and their commitment. Like Bound before it, the emotional investment we have in Honey and MG makes the mystery more compelling. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the roles should be reversed. Qualley is great as Honey, but she might be too youthful to be playing a scorned and apathetic gumshoe. Perhaps that’s part of the irony that drives the comedy.
During the day, Honey can’t find easy answers about what happened to Mia (Kara Petersen), but she powers through each interview, gathering pieces of the puzzle along the way. These judgmental, yet highly culpable, residents see everything but say nothing. At night, though, the locals in this drowsy old town come alive. Add a little liquor and music and, suddenly, everyone’s talking. Honey Don’t! has a bustling ensemble, for sure, but not everyone has a significant role in a film that tops out at 93 minutes. Lots of recognizable faces are useful for the film’s box-office returns, though it can feel distracting, like when Billy Eichner shows up for little payoff.
The superchurch run by Reverend Drew (Chris Evans) is clearly at the heart of the murders. Honey is coming for the cleric, but he’s too smug to believe he could ever be caught by a woman. Once Honey makes the link between her missing niece Corinne (Talia Ryder) and the string of deaths, she takes off the gloves. Evans is a standout as a religious leader completely divorced from ethics, morals, or decency. There’s a uniqueness to a man who can quote scripture to worm his way out of getting killed by an irate follower. Especially when he’s delivering that scripture stark naked and in bed with the follower’s wife. Written by Coen and Cooke, Honey Don’t! skewers the hypocrisy of megachurches and small-minded towns, but given that the small audience for this film already agrees, the impact is minimal.
Much like my qualm with Drive-Away Dolls, large sections of the film just aren’t funny. The script is a loosely tied ball of yarn. Several plots are unresolved, and the story feels, at best, incomplete. There’s nothing really subversive going on, rather a playful wink, followed by a red herring. Whatever comedic failings the film has though, it makes up for in violence. There are multiple gnarly scenes that feel right at home in the rest of the Coen’s oeuvre. The sound editor, Skip Lievsay, makes every punch, crunch, and slice intensely visceral.
Carter Burwell’s score and Ari Wagner’s cinematography get the viewer in the mood for a seedy underworld, like that of Blood Simple. However, the people who populate Bakersfield, CA, in Honey Don’t are largely horny morons. There isn’t much nuance to the characters; they are often exactly as they appear. The rat-a-tat dialogue is great coming out of Honey’s mouth, and thankfully, it’s reserved for Qualley and Plaza. It makes sense for His Girl Friday’s Cary Grant and Rosalind Russell to trade barbs, but not necessarily Ralph Bellamy. So when Honey is miles ahead of the slow-speaking rubes in town, it’s a great contrast in tones.
Between Ethan’s two films and Joel’s Macbeth adaptation, it’s interesting to note where each brother’s strength lies. It’s obvious where Joel could’ve taken Honey Don’t! to strike fear in viewers, or see where Ethan could’ve breathed some life into a somber adaptation of Macbeth, but their efforts apart have been a tad disappointing. They’ve made classics like Raising Arizona, Miller’s Crossing, Fargo, The Big Lebowski, No Country for Old Men, A Serious Man, and Inside Llewyn Davis. They’ve earned the right to branch apart and make whatever they want. However, when their previous highs are so pronounced, it’s understandable that audiences want them to work together again.
