Opening in Philadelphia in 1999, “Drive-Away Dolls” stars Margaret Qualley as Jamie, a sexually voracious free spirit who’s the toast (and butter, and jam) of all of her homosexual associates — aside from Sukie (Beanie Feldstein), the girlfriend she’s been dishonest on with blithe, pillow-biting regularity. Now lastly and unceremoniously dumped (until eradicating a intercourse toy from the wall counts as a ceremony), Jamie strikes in with Marian (Geraldine Viswanathan), an uptight cubicle dweller who favors Henry James, wise fits and humorless glares. Jamie insists they cheer up by touring to Tallahassee to go to Marian’s aunt; what they don’t know is that the drive-away service they join with (assume: free automobile rental to Florida) has given them a Dodge Aries carrying some mysteriously useful contraband.
The mess-up places Jamie and Marian within the crosshairs of a neighborhood crime group headed by a soft-spoken brute identified solely because the Chief (Colman Domingo), who enlists two thuggish ding-dongs to get the suitcase again. What ensues is, a minimum of on paper, a zany tour of the South’s most interesting lesbian bars and “basement events,” with Jamie and Marian managing to thwart or outsmart their pursuers at each flip. However the plot of “Drive-Away Dolls” isn’t as vital as the possibilities it offers Coen and his co-writer, his spouse Tricia Cooke, to throw in each naughty joke and pulpy interval reference they’ll: The “Massive Lebowski”-esque segues, staged with ’70s-style wipes, psychedelia and trippy animations, would possibly make sense when the identification of the MacGuffin lastly pops up, however they nonetheless really feel as gratuitous and compelled as the remainder of the film.
The lead actresses commit absolutely to a bit that asks Qualley to ship startlingly frank dialogue with a molasses-sweet Texas twang; Viswanathan’s prodigious comedian chops are wasted on — it’s best to pardon the expression — straight-woman reactions and muttered asides. The boys on their path, performed by Joey Slotnick and C.J. Wilson, do their finest with patter that feels lifted from Steve Buscemi and Peter Stormare’s outtakes in “Fargo”; in that darkly humorous masterpiece, stupidity was elevated to operatic heights, whereas right here it simply lies there being, effectively, silly. There are vibrant spots: Invoice Camp introduces a welcome be aware of surly realism even on the peak of the movie’s most mannered lunacy, and a third-act cameo arrives simply in time to virtually save the day.
Virtually. “Drive-Away Dolls” is a kind of films that’s so playful, so stuffed with lighthearted rogues and scamps, that it feels reverse-engineered to defy critical criticism. Taking subject with its cartoonish violence, crude sexual banter and retro-tastic aesthetic appears like one among Marian’s buzz-killing insults: We’re presupposed to loosen up and simply groove with it.
Which might be simple if Coen may hold the balloon afloat, relatively than make it really feel like an train in aren’t-we-having-fun overcompensation. “Drive-Away Dolls” won’t aspire to greatness, however that doesn’t imply it needed to be executed with such strenuous self-amusement. What begins as a lascivious lark turns right into a frenetic, overbusy slog — which itself morphs right into a punchline that has been searching for a setup all alongside. (Connoisseurs of legendary groupies of the Nineteen Seventies will get the joke.) “Drive-Away Dolls” would possibly succeed as a kitschy cinematic curio, but it surely’s as empty and disposable as a Dixie cup on the facet of the highway.
R. At space theaters. Accommodates crude sexual content material, full nudity, profanity and a few violence. 84 minutes.
