Ethan Coen’s third solo outing,  Honey Don’t, is a reminder that the Coen brothers were always better together. Classics like The Big Lebowski, Fargo, and O Brother, Where Art Thou? balanced Ethan’s irreverent humor with Joel’s self-conscious artistry. Honey Don’t offers the familiar Coen cocktail of murder, sex, and violence—but without the staying power of their best collaborations.

At its center is Honey O’Donahue (a magnetic Margaret Qualley), a well-dressed, hard-boiled private eye investigating a suspicious car crash. Her trail leads to Reverend Drew Devlin (a deliciously sleazy Chris Evans), a corrupt minister whose name alone hints at a pact with the devil. Devlin pushes drugs supplied by shadowy “French” connections, indulges in kinky liaisons with his parishioners, and ranks among the most depraved men of the cloth ever put on screen.

When Honey comes around asking questions, Devlin tries his best to bed her. No luck, Honey’s taste runs to women, as she frequently makes clear while exiting a room, high heels clacking. Enter Detective MG Falcone (Aubrey Plaza), who becomes Honey’s lover du jour in a no-strings-attached entanglement. The film’s lone glimpse of real intimacy comes when the two women, post-sex, share a cigarette and swap stories of abuse and neglect.
Coen’s mastery of cinematic craft remains undeniable. The sound design alone deserves Oscar attention, transforming Honey’s approach to Falcone’s creaking old house into a full-blown nail-biter. Footsteps, wind chimes, a squeaky doorbell, and dripping water build a soundscape straight out of a haunted house. Against better judgment, Honey enters.

The romance combusts in a brutal reversal when beloved becomes predator. Knives, guns, and even a boiling tea kettle are pressed into service in one of the film’s most harrowing sequences.

Longtime collaborator Carter Burwell’s soundtrack sets the mood and tone perfectly, with Qualley also contributing several haunting vocals. The opening credits may prove iconic: a car’s POV drifts through dusty “Bakersfield” (actually Albuquerque) as cast and crew names appear on liquor stores, diners, and gas station marquees, all to the Animals’ song “We Gotta Get Out of This Place.” It’s a perfect overture to the story’s desolate, lost-souls landscape.

Yet for all its bravura craft and wicked humor, Honey Don’t feels hollow. The off-screen demise of Devlin undercuts the film’s own excesses, leaving his story emotionally incomplete. A subplot involving a guileless parishioner, Hector (a striking debut from Puerto Rican actor Jacnier) and his beloved Abuela, gestures at a theme: in a corrupt and violent world, only family ties endure. Yet even that idea is undercut when Honey’s long-estranged and completely narcissistic father suddenly appears on the scene.

“You’re going to miss me when I’m dead,” he insists when Honey rebuffs his bid to restart their relationship. “You don’t get it, you’re already dead,” she spits back.

Watching beautiful, eccentric actors in handsome costumes spout unexpected lines is undeniably fun— but is that enough? Unlike the Coen brothers at their best, Honey Don’t struggles to make it all add up.