‘Honey Don’t!’ should work, but just doesn’t hit the mark

There’s a joke early on in “Honey Don’t!” where private eye Honey O’Donahue (Margaret Qualley) goes to visit her sister, Heidi (Kristen Connolly). Heidi lives a life a far cry from Honey, who drinks tequila straight and lives alone and aloof in her very nice apartment. In contrast, when we first meet Heidi, she’s pregnant, cooking dinner and holding a baby, a gaggle of children playing behind her in a house that’s far too small for the lot of them. 

What then ensues is a bit that feels like it could have been lifted straight out of something like the Coen Brothers’ “Raising Arizona” (“Honey Don’t!” is co-written and directed by Ethan Coen, as well as co-written and co-edited by his partner, Tricia Cooke). In rapid succession, more children start to appear out of the dregs of the house. One by one, Heidi’s hoard – already pretty big! – becomes impossibly large.

This is played like it should be funny – and make no mistake, it should be funny. The house is tiny, and as the last child comes into frame, it feels like we’re getting into double digits territory. But the timing feels off. The children come out a bit too quickly, but the movie still feels slow to make its point. It’s both chaotic and a little too chill, not letting the audience live in the joke, but also taking its sweet time getting around to the joke in the first place. 

Should have worked, but didn’t – that could be the tagline for “Honey Don’t!” A queer twist on a noir starring a woman in the Humphrey Bogart part is fertile ground, and “Honey Don’t” has at least something to say about the blunt casualty with which women experience violence everyday. But the script and direction aren’t nearly tight enough to mine those themes for what they’re worth, ending up as more of a broad parody than anything else – and not a very funny one, either. 

In the film, Honey’s day starts off with a potential new client missing her appointment because she died – her car rolled off of a cliff into the canyons surrounding Bakersfield, crushing her underneath its weight. It looks like an accident, but Honey is suspicious, and the only lead she has is a religious cult in town that the dead girl belonged to, led by sleaze ball extraordinaire Reverend Drew Devlin (Chris Evans).

When we think of noir, there are several classics that come to mind: movies like “Double Indemnity,” “Notorious,” “Laura.” Part of the reason these movies work is rhythm – the pitter-patter of the dialogue between the actors, the verve and the energy that come out of those conversations. The closest “Honey Don’t!” comes to achieving that racy tone while also adequately poking fun at it – a difficult task, to be sure – is the relationship between Honey and her new beau, policewoman MG Falcone (Aubrey Plaza). 

During MG and Honey’s first date, MG almost immediately starts pleasuring Honey under the table, the two of them chattering away like nothing’s happening. Because of the censorship of the Hays Code back in the mid-20th century, sex by way of dialogue was common in the movies – they couldn’t show you anything, but they could make the back and forth of a conversation as sexually charged as possible. This moment between Honey and MG is riffing on that same idea – they’re not showing you what’s going on, but you know what’s going on. 

That’s the closest “Honey Don’t!” gets to magic. Qualley is going for Bogart – smooth, cool, unaffected. But she’s almost a little too cool, if that’s possible. Bogart works because underneath his facade, underneath the snappy dialogue, there’s a well of emotion he can tap into. It’s not entirely Qualley’s fault – she’s not given too much to work with in the script – but while she’s charming, she’s underplaying it to the point where it’s often hard to register anything at all. 

Her soft touch clashes with performances from the likes of Evans and Charlie Day – both going big and overly broad. In particular, Day’s character – Detective Marty Metakawich, who’s constantly asking Honey out on dates – is another thing about “Honey Don’t” that could work, but just doesn’t quite hit the mark. By the end of the film, you get the sense that he knows she’s never going to say yes to his advances, but they’re both committed to the bit at this point. That’s a fun dynamic on paper, but Day’s huge performance style (plus the complete lack of context we have for his character) clashes with Qualley’s quietness. 

Marty also represents an interesting motif, the thin line between sleazy, yet ultimately harmless men and men who are far more violent and dangerous. But these male characters – whichever side of the line they fall on – lack the specificity to make that connection. As MG, Plaza gives the best performance in the film, embittered and full of rage for men who have hurt her in her past. But she’s still underserved by where the narrative ends up taking her. 

No one involved with “Honey Don’t!” really feels like they were making the same movie. It’s far shaggier than “Drive-Away Dolls,” the first movie in Coen and Cooke’s still unfinished lesbian B-movie trilogy. Which, if you’ve seen “Drive-Away Dolls,” that’s saying something. But a lesbian sex comedy road trip movie can afford to be a little ragged around the edges. Hard-boiled noir, no matter how much dark comedy is baked in, can’t, 

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