There are a lot of surprises packed into Drive-Away Dolls. An 80-minute runtime is one of the first (and one of the only welcome), and in that brevity comes a dense slew of inexplicable choices in direction, writing, and casting.

After a pseudo-noir opening sequence involving a botched handoff and a beat up old brown car, we meet Jamie and Marian: two lesbians in 1999 Philadelphia. Jamie (a raunchy party gal played by Margaret Qualley) and Marian (uptight and repressed, played by Geraldine Viswanathan) have been friends for years. When they both come to the conclusion that their lives are not satisfactory, a roadtrip to Tallahassee, Florida becomes their solution. They pick up a drive-away car to use for the trip (a vehicle that someone needs transported, which you can drive for free if you happen to also be heading in the same direction); of course, it’s the same beat up old brown car we saw in the opening, containing some contraband goods. The girls, oblivious to their cargo and the nefarious men pursuing them, drive towards Florida and towards personal and sexual reckoning.

If that sounds generic on paper, it’s because it reads as generic on screen. The queer aspect of this movie is doing so much of the heavy lifting that someone should be spotting it. Without that overlay, it’s a typical raunchy rom-com, with a dash of crime and some light political commentary (which is really too afraid to say much of anything). What’s bizarre is the tendency to seem shy about the sexuality. This movie is raunchy, make no mistake — but in many cutaways (amid other wildly off-the-mark scene transitions) there is a sense of embarrassment about showing or doing too much.

Broadly speaking, that comment can apply to most aspects of the film. With a script that wants to be bonkers, the direction and pacing are oddly laid-back; the presentation of the material is at odds with the material itself. For each moment that reaches an effectively high level of hilarious camp — and there are a few, I give credit where it is due — there’s a strange tangent into reflective dreamlike reveries or completely inexplicable and drawn-out transition sequences heaping on 70’s drug trip pastiche (an odd choice for a film taking place in 1999).

For a movie that feels like it was made for a streaming debut (and one without much fanfare, at that) there are a surprising number of recognizable faces. Pedro Pascal, Colman Domingo, Matt Damon, and even Miley Cyrus appear here — and all are wasted with either little screen time or pointless, constrained material. Beanie Feldstein, as an angry ex, makes a meal out of every scene she gets, chewing up both the scenery and her scene partners. Unfortunately for the entire production, our two leading ladies (Qualley and Viswanathan) have virtually no chemistry. Qualley is a cute little sex-pistol doing her best with a committed southern drawl, while Viswanathan, on the other hand, presents an obstinate performance that refuses to either let the audience in or bring much out. The combination of the two results in a fizzle rather than a bang, and when they inevitably end up beneath the sheets, the character swings to get them there are enormous.

There’s no rush to catch these drive-aways. They’ll pull into a streaming service soon; and even then, you may want to give them a parking violation.