Honey Don’t (2025) – maybe you really shouldn’t?

The B-movie Honey Don’t (2025) is Ethan Coen’s next solo project, shot without the participation of his brother Joel. The script was written in collaboration with the director’s wife Tricia Cook, as in the case of the previous film “Drive-Away Dolls”. The film tells the story of private investigator Honey O’Donahue (Margaret Qualley), who investigates the mysterious death of her client. Obviously, the title is taken from a Carl Perkins song, which is what intrigues the film. The story promises dark comedy: stylish neo-noir, laced with Coen’s trademark black humor, but in fact it turns into a series of absurd and loosely interconnected events.

Instead of a coherent narrative, the viewer is faced with a set of disparate scenes that do not add up to a single picture, as if this were a less successful version of the Drive-Away Dolls, because that road movie was more interesting. Here, the appearances of characters, including a sexaholic pastor, Reverend Drew (Chris Evans), and a mysterious French woman (Lera Abova), are illogical, as are their disappearance without a trace, and do not have much impact on the main course of events. And the supporting characters seem to be competing for the Darwin Prize: whose death would be more ridiculous? And none of them wants to empathize.

Margaret Qualley, whose role fluctuates between sex appeal and gloomy charm, cannot save her empty heroine, obsessed with lesbian coitus, in the absence of a clear narrative. In Tarantino’s cameo role as a hippie in “Once upon a Time in Hollywood,” she was remembered much more. If in the “Drive-Away Dolls” the duet was made up of a sweet, simple Indian girl, then here she has a blue 1971 Chevrolet Chevelle SS 454, the secretary Spider is not suitable for the role of a partner. Honey could have been a comic book character, so she would have a lot more personal history and background. Police officer MJ Falcone (Aubrey Plaza) looks unconvincing and even repulsive — her role seems meaningless, her only possible motive is that she doesn’t like being abandoned.

The visual sequence, which was supposed to convey the atmosphere of noir in sunny Bakersfield, California, depicts ultraviolence, which was probably supposed to look comical, but is not funny at all. An attempt at retro styling looks like a stretched decoration. The dialogues are full of vulgar jokes and political attacks (“I’ll stay with my dildo. He helps me open up, and he doesn’t have some kind of creep attached to him”), which only emphasize the unfortunate humor and lack of subtlety. The fem-agenda went through the men once again with a femme rink, proclaiming them like: “All the men are assholes! Lustful sheeps! Insatiable fat-bellied gluttons!!” Fathers and old people were also slammed, there’s nothing good about any of them.

“Honey Don’t” is Ethan Coen’s unsuccessful attempt to create something outstanding on his own, which only confirms that without a creative tandem with his brother, his projects lose their magic. If you’re interested in modern retro stylizations, it’s better to watch “Last Stop In Yuma County”. And Tricia Cook is apparently the “cook who can rule the country” of Ethan’s cinematography. Their second joint creation from the “lesbian B-movie trilogy” suffers from illogicality, too many storylines have been started and abandoned without any attempts to connect. Even a good authentic soundtrack doesn’t help, with Honey Don’t playing in Wanda Jackson’s version at the end.

Wanda Jackson – Honey Don’t (mp3):

The “Drive-Away Dolls” were very funny, and not so cruel, the apotheosis of that irony was an editorial in a newspaper like “a politician was found at a lesbian bar with a suitcase full of dildos.” And this flick (and there’s no other way to say it) seems like a step back, despite Qualley and all the juicy details. So if you want a detective story, think of Marlowe, and if you want a neo-noir black comedy, then take Lake George. And Coen fans (and everyone else) can safely recommend passing by this unremarkable film — time will be wasted. I just want to exclaim, “O Brother, where art thou?”