Seven years after the Coen Brothers declared the end of their creative partnership, Ethan has carved out an intriguing niche for himself, crafting lesbian B-movie capers with his wife (screenwriter Tricia Cooke) that feel deliberately designed for the midnight movie crowd. Following 2024’s modestly entertaining Drive-Away Dolls (which made a paltry $5 million at the box office), Honey Don’t! arrives as the second installment in what Coen has announced will be a loosely connected trilogy. Unfortunately, this latest effort represents a disappointing step backward, a film with all the right ingredients that never quite gels into the satisfying genre pastiche it clearly wants to be.
Margaret Qualley trades the manic energy of Drive-Away Dolls‘ Jamie for the more buttoned-down persona of Honey O’Donahue, a private investigator operating out of Bakersfield, California. Watching Qualley work her way through this dusty noir landscape in red heels and flowing ringlets, wielding that distinctive honeyed (pun intended) voice like a weapon, viewers may be reminded of the kind of old-school movie star presence that Hollywood used to manufacture by the dozen. If there’s a single element that consistently works throughout the film, it’s Qualley’s complete commitment to this character’s particular brand of world-weary authority.
The plot kicks off when one of Honey’s potential clients ends up dead at the bottom of a cliff following a brutal car accident. Despite never officially taking the case, Honey’s investigation leads her to the Four Way Temple — a local church run by the lecherous Reverend Drew (Chris Evans), a self-proclaimed holy man who peddles drugs and maintains a ready supply of vulnerable young congregants for his own twisted purposes. Meanwhile, Honey gets involved with MG (Aubrey Plaza), an introverted cop with her own mysterious agenda, while family drama involving Honey’s troubled niece (Talia Ryder) threatens to complicate matters further.
On paper, a quirky noir featuring an unlikely detective navigating American dysfunction sounds like the foundation for another enjoyably scuzzy crime comedy in the vein of The Big Lebowski. But whereas that film had a distinct identity and memorably sketched characters inhabiting a fully realized world, Honey Don’t! feels underdeveloped. Honey O’Donahue may be an actual detective (something The Dude certainly couldn’t claim), but neither she nor the world she inhabits feels particularly lived-in or authentic.
The film’s most glaring weakness lies in its narrative coherence — or rather, its complete lack thereof. Coen and Cooke have assembled potentially interesting plot threads and colorful characters, but they never figure out how to weave them together into something satisfying. Chris Evans, whose post-MCU work has offered numerous opportunities to dial up the sleaze, proves to be a consistent scene-stealer as the corrupt reverend, but his storyline runs parallel to the main mystery without ever meaningfully intersecting.
Even more problematic is the film’s tonal confusion. Honey Don’t! gestures toward religious hypocrisy and political corruption but never commits to exploring either with real depth or insight. The result feels surface-level in a way that’s particularly disappointing coming from a filmmaker with Coen’s pedigree (a moment where Honey slaps an “I Have a Vagina and I Vote” bumper sticker over a MAGA one feels especially forced and on-the-nose).
That said, Honey Don’t! isn’t without its pleasures. The chemistry between Qualley and Plaza crackles whenever they’re onscreen together, and their sex scenes — presented with refreshing matter-of-factness rather than the typical Hollywood male gaze — showcase two people who know precisely what they want from each other. Qualley’s wardrobe also deserves praise (courtesy of costume designer Peggy Schnitzer), but the cinematography and score fail to establish the kind of distinctive atmosphere that elevated Coen classics like Fargo or the aforementioned Lebowski. The film’s climax proves particularly unsatisfying, with an antagonist whose motivations never ring true and resolutions that feel more perfunctory than earned.
Honey Don’t! has a charismatic lead performance and a filmmaker with an established track record for this kind of material; that it never quite comes together feels almost maddening. Not that this misfire should prove damaging in any way — Coen’s trilogy appears to be a passion project operating on relatively modest budgets, and Qualley has already proven herself as one of our most versatile performers, so neither are likely to be adversely affected. But after the decent entertainment value of Drive-Away Dolls, this feels like a step in the wrong direction. Here’s hoping the trilogy’s third installment can recapture some of that earlier film’s energy.