Honk for Jesus. Save Your Soul. 2022

Honk for Jesus. Save Your Soul concludes with a powerful revelation of the characters’ true selves and the fragility of faith intertwined with hypocrisy. Trinitie, dressed as a mime, explodes with frustration and exposes her inner pain, revealing how she’s endured the betrayal and humiliation alongside her husband, Lee-Curtis. Her outburst underscores her disillusionment with the church and the lies they’ve been living. Meanwhile, Lee-Curtis is confronted by Khalil, one of the men accusing him of sexual misconduct, which further strips away his façade of righteousness. Despite these scandals, a few loyal members, known as the “Devout Five,” remain committed to Lee-Curtis and Trinitie, refusing to accept their fall from grace. Some of them are in denial, convinced Lee-Curtis is innocent or that he’s hiding his true identity—possibly a closeted gay man—showing how deeply ingrained their loyalty and denial are.

The church’s grand reopening is marked by an eerie absence of usual congregation members. This emptiness mirrors the widespread disillusionment caused by Lee-Curtis’ scandal, as many felt betrayed and uncomfortable returning after the allegations surfaced. The congregation’s departure signifies a loss of faith not just in Lee-Curtis but in the very institution they once revered. Facing ruin, Lee-Curtis and Trinitie hire a documentary crew to craft their narrative, aiming to control the story of their lives and restore their image. Through the documentary, they craft a comforting illusion—portraying Lee-Curtis as a kindly pastor who loves his church and wants to save souls—despite the hypocrisy beneath the surface. This maneuver mirrors how real-life figures attempt to reinvent themselves after scandal, using media to spin a more favorable image.

Ultimately, the film emphasizes that the true motive for Lee-Curtis and Trinitie’s actions is centered around maintaining power and reputation, rather than genuine spiritual devotion. The mockumentary exposes the greed, manipulation, and hypocrisy that underpin many megachurches, revealing how the pursuit of influence often masks the darker truths of the leaders’ private lives. As the film closes, it leaves viewers with a sobering reflection on faith’s vulnerability to corruption and the enduring damage caused when charisma and deception collide within religious institutions. The characters’ journey from pride to disillusionment underscores how easily faith can be exploited by those craving power and validation—reminding us that true change often requires confronting uncomfortable realities.

In the heart of the American South, a once‑thriving megachurch sits silent after a scandal shatters its reputation. Trinitie Childs, the charismatic first lady of the congregation, and her husband, the pastor Lee‑Curtis Brown, are determined to stitch their fractured community back together. The story unfolds against the backdrop of opulent Sunday services, designer wardrobes, and the lingering echo of hymns that once drew thousands, painting a vivid portrait of faith collided with fame.

Both Trinitie and Lee‑Curtis enlist a documentary crew, hoping the cameras will capture not only the practical steps of rebuilding but also the emotional heartbeats of a family under pressure. Their efforts are underscored by a blend of earnest humor and pointed satire, highlighting the absurdities that can surface when spiritual leadership meets modern celebrity culture. Along their path, they encounter fellow clergy—Keon and Shakura Sumpter—who are launching their own fresh start, offering a subtle mirror to the Childs’ own aspirations and insecurities.

The tone balances reverent affection for the rituals of Southern Baptist life with a sharp, comedic edge that questions the cost of redemption. As the couple navigates lawsuits, dwindling attendance, and the ever‑watchful eye of both supporters and skeptics, the film invites viewers into a world where love, ambition, and the desire to be seen converge. The atmosphere hums with anticipation, hinting at a pivotal moment when the church might once again open its doors to a hopeful crowd, while the underlying tension of personal and communal restoration keeps the audience leaning in, curious about what will—and won’t—be restored.