Honey Don't! Has as its main feature the quality of seeming to be tossed off by the director and writers/producers Ethan Coen and Tricia Cooke, as I am sure the latter and certainly the former has inhaled enough detective novels and movies and other forms of seedy pulp fiction to over-fill a small but sturdy bookstore and know the types and tropes in their bones.
If it feels so loose even under 90 minutes that it even could feel like Coen and Cooke wrote this in a few heated days in a trailer in Bakersfield (or at least with some postcards from the city over their walls), that is a feature and not a bug; there is a sneaky confidence to the filmmaking as Coen is at the point after making films for so long that the "plot" doesn't matter so much as giving the actors some strange dialog to make as real as they can (and thus funnier). This and Drive-Away Dolls and, if it happens, the third movie in this unofficial Shaggy Lesbian-and-Liquor-and-Cigarette Soaked Neo-Noir trilogy are "B" level in what is on the page, and if it feels minor it is mostly because of the insanely high quality of work that Coen has in his Hard-Left-Turn Crime movies (and Cooke as well as co-editor on several films by the brothers).
Thankfully, the filmmakers know how sharp Qualley looks in those heels and suits and understand what power she has as a beauty on screen but more importantly how adept she is at the Coen style of snappy patter that often moves into more serious connotations in the next scene or within the scene (the moment when her father comes a knocking straddles the line between funny and sad and is a perfect example of the amusing melancholy that laces many parts of the second half of this at least).
There are also plum parts for a crude Chris Evans, nearly half of his performance half naked - he seems the most to me, for better or worse, like a character that could easily be in a Coen homage or even rip off (tell me he is not a spot on recurring character for the Fargo TV show) - and Aubrey Plaza, who gets to have such a wild monologue late in the film that it makes the turn into this moment justified (though barely, I'm still not sure how I feel about that without giving too much except that it does give a beat for a kind of critique of internalized misogyny maybe the film needed more time to unpack).
Meanwhile, there is some terrific sensuality as well as absurd moments with that (easy pickings for comedy, sure, but still funny), and some horrific violence that shows that this late-era filmmaker can find new ways to make an audience curdle a bit from common household items in panic mode. I also liked the ways that just by flipping gender a bit we see certain tropes in a familiar but skewed light like with Billy Eighner's few scenes (the kind of actor who makes a full meal out of a school lunch worth of characterization). Again, I can't go to bat for this as something greater than what it is, and yet I think it is only trying to be as clever as it is and not much more. Honey Don't is a highly entertaining lark, no more or less.
