HONEY DON’T: kinda funny, disposable

Photo caption: Margaret Qualley in HONEY DON’T. Courtesy of Focus Features.

In Ethan Coen’s dark comedy Honey Don’t, the potential clients of private eye Honey O’Donahue (Margaret Qualley) keep getting killed, and she suspects that the deaths are connected to a sexually predatory sham preacher (Chris Evans). She’s a whip-smart lipstick lesbian, and she sizzles with the local cop MG (Aubrey Plaza). Honey and the phony pastor have lots of robust sex, none of it with each other. We think we know who the big villain is going to be, but there’s a big surprise twist.

There’s a lot of sassy dialogue, and there are some LOL lines like “no, but I saw Palmdale” that could have become iconic if this were a better movie. It’s kinda funny, dotted with a few inspired moments, but, on the whole, a disposable movie.

Director Ethan Coen co-wrote Honey Don’t with longtime Coen Brothers editor Tricia Cooke, who also co-wrote his Drive Away Dolls. In a twist on the detective genre, the oversexed, badass characters are women – Honey, MG and a mysterious, motor scooter-riding drug importer (Lera Abova). The two main male characters are Evan’s predatory minister, a doofus who thinks he’s a mastermind, and a smarmy cop (Charlie Day), who knows that he’s a doofus and is blissfully content with being one. That being said, Honey Don’t is all about the carnage-laden comic violence that men tend to enjoy, and I doubt that the female-centric angle is enough to draw women into the audience.

Qualley and Evans are both very good, and I will watch anything that features Aubrey Plaza. There are excellent comic performances by Josh Pafchek, as an impressively dim thug, and Kale Browne, as an old man whose identity isn’t revealed right away.

One of the most distinctive and fun stars of the film is its setting – emphatically downscale Bakersfield. I’m not convinced that there is a nice part of Bakersfield, but, if there is, we sure don’t see it here. Californians will also enjoy the references to Lancaster and Palmdale.

Honey Don’t is a mildly enjoyable 87 minutes, but not a Must See.

THE NICE GUYS: good dirty fun in the dirty air of 1970s LA

Ryan Gosling and Angourie Rice in THE NICE GUYS
Ryan Gosling and Angourie Rice in THE NICE GUYS

Director Shane Black created the Lethal Weapon franchise, so he is pretty much the Jedi Master of the mismatched cop buddy genre.  His latest action comedy, The Nice Guys, is an entertaining romp through 1970s LA.   Russell Crowe plays LA’s toughest goon – but a goon who is a man-of-his-word stand up guy.  Ryan Gosling plays LA’s seediest private eye, a morally ambiguous drunk and and an epically unreliable single dad.  Circumstances force them to work a mystery together, and the fun begins.

Ryan Gosling delivers a comic tour de force performance.  His losing battle with the door of a toilet stall rates with the best work of Charlie Chaplin and Peter Sellers. He even delivers a reaction that’s a wonderful homage to Stan Laurel.  Crowe turns out to be a very able straight man.

The MacGuffin that the guys are chasing is the print of a porn flick with an activist political message.  The conspiratorial villain is Detroit’s US auto industry.  The plot is so absurd that it’s actually a pretty fair parody of another genre – the paranoid political thriller.  In a nice touch, the super scary evil hit man doesn’t look a bit like you would expect.

And then there’s the private eye’s child rearing habits, which today would prompt calls to Child Protective Services.  Just like much of the fun in Mad Men is the interior smoking, day drinking and secretary-chasing, here we get to mock the capital I Inappropriateness of Gosling’s 1970s single dad. He lets his 13-year-old hang out at a vacant lot after dark and then accompany him to a drug-filled bacchanalian orgy.

That daughter is played by Aussie child actor Angourie Rice, who is just about perfect in this role.  The last two-thirds of The Nice Guys becomes a three-hander with Crowe, Gosling and Rice.

Black takes us right back to the late seventies with more than just bad clothes, hair and music.  We see gas lines, smog alerts, crawling freeways and pre-catylitic converter cars.  Characters write checks, and there’s nary a cell phone.

The Nice Guys may not be deep, but it sure is funny.  (And it sets up a sequel.)