Honey Don't! Review — Phantasmag

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Honey Don’t! Review:
An A-Grade Margaret Qualley Leads a Queer B-Movie Mystery
Director Ethan Coen and co-writer Tricia Cooke return with the spiritual sequel to Drive-Away Dolls
CANNES FILM FESTIVAL - MIDNIGHT SCREENINGS

Words by Alex Secilmis 26 May 2025

The noir needs a queering. Thankfully, strutting onto the crime scene in click-clacking heels and a matching red floral dress, Margaret Qualley is here to save the day and solve the case. As a sex-centred detective story coloured by the black comedy of a Coen Brother, Honey Don’t! is a raunchy, bloody affair that turns the noir’s gender conventions on their fedora-covered heads.

Granted, let’s not forget about Gilda, Bound, and even last year’s Love Lies Bleeding, but Ethan Coen and Tricia Cooke’s film queers the genre with a dash of Russ Meyer-style sexploitation for good measure. The second instalment of Coen and Cooke’s “Lesbian B-Movie Trilogy”, Honey Don’t! replaces the hard-boiled hetero male lead with Honey O’Donahue (Qualley), a private eye with a deep voice, a red lip, and heaps of swagger. In the desert town of Bakersfield, California, she’s investigating a string of murders connected to a sleazy preacher-cum-cult leader (Chris Evans) who, by inviting every female follower he can to bed, does rather little to dissuade his congregation from sins of the flesh. Also in the picture are MG Falcone (Aubrey Plaza), a brusque cop who catches Honey’s eye, and a mysterious Frenchwoman (Lera Abova) with a fondness for Vespas, skinny dipping, and cheetah print ensembles.

Toying with genres where emotional depth plays second fiddle to sex and violence, the characters are all one-note—making the work of a game cast all the more crucial. Margaret Qualley showcases movie-star magnetism in spades. Stoic, fierce, and flirtatious, she exudes Old Hollywood cool as the titular detective. Meanwhile, just as one would hope given her history of quirky characters and deadpan delivery, Aubrey Plaza takes to Coen’s signature absurd, darkly funny tone like a duck to water. Honey Don’t! also boasts an excellent villain in the scene-stealing Reverend Drew. Chris Evans has a blast with a winning transformation into America’s Asshole that picks up where his Knives Out role left off.

While I hate to stoop to Daily Mail journalism or worse (“Femme Margaret Qualley gets her tit sucked and pussy eaten by butch Aubrey Plaza!”), the intimate scenes have to be addressed—because Honey Don’t! is fundamentally a film about sex. With sex in cinema on a long-term steady decline, Coen and Cooke see the act as a perfect way to communicate character. Honey and MG’s relationship revolves entirely around their chemistry in the bedroom and, believe it or not, in public at a bar. While their scenes together depict queer desire with an uncommon sincerity in a B-movie, Revered Drew’s sliminess is conveyed through comically vulgar fornication, where he wields his cult leader status for his own pleasure.

The leading trio is joined by a couple of modern-day comedy greats in bit parts. Charlie Day is amusing but underused as a dopey detective who just can’t seem to fathom Honey’s disinterest in him (“You always say that!” he tells her with a smile after she asserts, “I like girls”). When Billy Eichner enters Honey’s office as a lovelorn germaphobe and dejectedly says, “I think my boyfriend is cheating on me,” I let out a lone, hearty laugh among the 2300 people in the Grand Théâtre Lumière. I’m clearly partial to his brand of desperate intensity and would have equally enjoyed an expanded role for him.

The underdevelopment of Day’s and Eichner’s roles points to a wider problem. Everything in Honey Don’t!, from the main mystery to its characters, is half-baked. While the one-dimensional players and flimsy plot are part of the B-movie’s zany allure, it feels like a truly great film is hiding beneath the sun-soaked surface. Further to its detriment, the comedy is also muted compared to the delightfully wacky Drive-Away Dolls, a film where a life cast of Matt Damon’s penis plays a major role. Speaking of Drive-Away Dolls, if Coen and Cooke didn’t win you over with that psychedelic road movie, Honey Don’t! is unlikely to sway you.

Nevertheless, if you’re looking for a kitschy good time, seasoned stars letting loose, and more than your fair share of queer sex, honey, don’t listen to the film’s detractors and go see it this August.