Lesbians and cinema. It’s a combination as potent as Joni Mitchell and singing or Mr. Burns and loafers made from former gophers. Considering the very first kiss in cinema history was between two ladies, it’s no wonder filmmaking and queer gals make such enthralling chums. Titles like Working Girls, Pariah, Portrait of a Lady on Fire, and Carol are but a handful that shatter society’s thinly-sketched or dehumanizing visions of lesbian existence with their richly moving artistry. Plus, the endless variety of lesbian cinema reflects the infinite ways to be a queer woman.

However, just because I yearn for every movie to feature women kissing doesn’t mean all lesbian features are created equal. Even a person dying of thirst won’t swallow a drop of Mountain Dew Flamin’ Hot. Alas, Honey Don’t!, while not devoid of Ethan Coen charms or queer gal joys, left even this lesbian cinema lover cold.

Going their separate ways has inspired the Coen Brothers to pursue drastically different creative pursuits. 2021’s The Tragedy of Macbeth saw Joel Coen exploring uncharted territory atmospherically and visually. Meanwhile, Ethan Coen’s second standalone film is a half-hearted Raymond Chandler pastiche. Considering he and his brother’s The Big Lebowski was already a skewed, slacker vision of a Raymond Chandler story, Honey Don’t! feels reductive from the get-go. Ethan’s been here before, and the familiarity saps a lot of energy from the proceedings.

Coen and Tricia Cooke’s screenplay follows private investigator Honey O’Donoghue (Margaret Qualley), who loves women, drinking, and keeping everyone distant emotionally. Her newest case involves a woman killed in a seemingly random automobile accident. However, O’Donoghue becomes increasingly convinced that local faith icon Reverend Drew Devlin (Chris Evans) might have something to do with this grisly demise. Meanwhile, O’Donoghue’s niece, Corinne (Talia Ryder), suffers in an abusive relationship destined to dovetail into this sordid mess of sex, religion, and control.

Despite directing movies for over 40 years now, Coen shows a shockingly amateurish hand in ending scenes in Honey Don’t!. Too many sequences fizzle out or come to abrupt conclusions. In more assured hands, this problem could’ve radiated intentionality, mirroring the shagginess of real-world existence. Here, however, it feels like Coen kept the cameras rolling too long, hoping for “hilarious” improvised lines from the actors.

It’s a defect heavily informing the feature’s uninvolving, languid pace. There’s just no tension or energy, even when young Corinne is in danger. The Big Lebowski had a compelling slacker vibe to its meandering digressions. Such a precise atmosphere evades Honey Don’t!. Instead, it offers inescapable tedium.

Cooke and Coen’s screenplay juggling so many wildly disparate characters is part of the issue. For instance, 10ish minutes are devoted to a mysterious unhoused man we never see again. In contrast, Devlin and O’Donoghue only face off in person once. With such a cluttered scope, it’s impossible for Honey Don’t! to build an effective mystery.

Despite its reliance on juggling perspectives, Honey Don’t! is no Trenque Lauquen. On the contrary, the various lives explored here are a total snore. Ethan Coen’s last solo directorial effort, Drive-Away Dolls, at least delivered lots of women kissing each other to balance out glaring shortcomings. Honey Don’t!, meanwhile, is too enamored with the backstabbing and inner-workings of a rote male-dominated gangster organization. Shouldn’t a lesbian gumshoe movie at least largely focus on the ladies?

Not that more of it would necessarily save this effort. What is offered by way of queer gall attraction is undercut by cramped camerawork and editing. O’Donoghue and police officer MG Falcone’s (Aubrey Plaza) first bar date leaves tons of sizzling potential on the table with its clumsy framing. Constantly cutting between the characters distracts from their budding physical and psychological connections. “Subtle” public fingering shouldn’t come off so stale on-screen. Again and again Honey Don’t! squanders similar chances to jostle audiences awake.

There are some bright spots. Charlie Day’s detective Marty Metakawich and his outsized obliviousness over O’Donoghue’s lesbianism are both sporadically amusing and suggest the superior, heightened, cartoony Honey that could’ve been. An early conversation between Devlin and his himbo assistant, Shuggie (Josh Pafchek), fit with that hypothetical version as well, mixing the dark deed of murder with the film’s funniest burst of wordplay.

Most importantly, Plaza deserves a medal with Tracy Chapman’s face on it for making such a meal out of her thinly written role. Whether it’s Megalopolis, Operation Fortune: Ruse de Guerre, or here, Plaza is a master at delivering unforgettable work in otherwise drastically underwhelming features. Somebody get her another film on par with Ingrid Goes West to headline, please.

Unfortunately, fleeting absurdist charms and Plaza’s gifts can’t salvage such a flat line feature. Even Qualley’s “just the facts, ma’am” performance is yawn-worthy. The best lesbian movies and detective yarns keep one absolutely riveted. Honey Don’t! doesn’t come close. In other words, my fellow dykes, do not get your U-hauls out of storage. It’s not worth committing to Honey Don’t!.

Honey Don’t! squanders its potential in theatres beginning August 22.

Honey Dont! Trailer: