The relationships between humans and animals are mutually beneficial. Feeding a pet is a reason to get out of bed in the morning; taking them out is an excuse to get dressed, go outside, and get some sun. And although she didn’t ask for the responsibility, taking care of a sweet, fluffy white rabbit with enormous eyes is exactly what the protagonist of Katarina Zhu’s “Bunnylovr” needs.
Rebecca (Zhu) is having what you might call a quarter-life crisis. Nearly friendless and struggling to pay rent, she supplements her income as a personal assistant with the money she makes chatting with guys and posting pictures of her feet on a camming website. It’s one of her clients who sends her the rabbit, actually; it’s a weird thing to do, and given the violent arc stories about sex work often take in media, the anticipation is sickening whenever Rebecca turns on her webcam to chat with John (Austin Amelio). His interest in rabbits does seem to be…unusual.
But “Bunnylovr” isn’t the edgy thriller it suggests it might become. Zhu tacitly acknowledges this tension late in the story, when Rebecca goes on an ill-advised date to a horror film: The man’s hand creeps up Rebecca’s thigh as a woman screams and pleads for help on the soundtrack, unseen but disturbing to hear. Rebecca, meanwhile, stares spellbound at the screen, as if pondering her fate if she continues down this self-destructive path. She then gets up and runs out of the theater, because this isn’t that kind of movie.
To be clear, there is one upsetting scene involving the bunny, who Rebecca names Milk. But it’s more of a turning point for Rebecca’s character than it is for the type of film we are watching. While Rebecca does undergo a (quiet) transformation, “Bunnylovr” remains subtle throughout, using its protagonist as a stand-in for urban alienation and internet-age loneliness writ large. As Rebecca, Zhu is hesitant and indecisive. She has nowhere to be, but is always late anyway. She looks like she has something to say, but when she does start talking, she anxiously fumbles, saying too much and nothing at the same time.
Rebecca does have one IRL friend, a privileged painter named Bella (Rachel Sennott) who doesn’t even seem to like her that much. Bella’s entitlement and bitchy comments (Sennott excels at bitchy comments) give “Bunnylovr” a welcome mean streak, as well as most of its comedy. Bella isn’t a total villain — that role is saved for callous fuckboy Carter (Jack Kilmer). But she’s not a good person either, and the friction in their friendship is essential to giving the aimless Rebecca some motivation as she spirals towards a personal collapse.
Another source of drama is Rebecca’s absentee father William (Perry Yung), with whom she reunites following a long period of estrangement after running into him on the street. A deadbeat dad with a gambling problem and a library of dubbed VHS porn, William is hardly a model parent. But he is an apologetic one, and he makes an effort to get to know Rebecca before it’s too late. She’s more like her dad than either of them would care to acknowledge, however, and she withdraws from him whenever her feelings get too intense and confusing. The same is true for John, who seems to be a decent enough guy — aside from the whole rabbit-fetish thing, of course.
William does have one redeeming quality: A black cat that keeps him company when his life decisions leave him all alone in his junky bachelor apartment. (Again, father and daughter are more alike than they think.) He loves the cat, and shows Rebecca a picture of it on his phone. Rebecca looks and smiles politely. She doesn’t tell him about Milk. These nuanced emotional beats are where “Bunnylovr” shines.
Zhu places Rebecca and her story within the specific cross-cultural milieu of growing up Chinese-American in New York City, where she can hang out with a gaggle of elderly Asian men betting on mahjong in the park and cliques of rich kids stroking each other’s egos at an art opening within minutes of each other. The dialogue is naturalistic, Charli XCX plays a little too loud on the soundtrack, and the camerawork is full of shaky hand-held closeups — all predictable moves for a New York indie like this one.
But while Zhu creates a world that feels empathetic and lived in, Rebecca as a character doesn’t give the viewer much to work with. She has no interests, no ambitions, no hobbies. Her apartment is plain white, with nothing on the walls.
She’s so unmoored that the timeline drifts along with her; a major life event unfolds over what seems like months, only for another character to make reference to their actions “last week.”
While the understated approach Zhu brings to her debut feature is authentic, it also underplays even big, dramatic developments in Rebecca’s life. The result is a tiny thing you can hold in the palm of your hand, soft and delicate and mild.
Grade: B-
“Bunnylovr” premiered at the 2025 Sundance Film Festival. It is currently seeking U.S. distribution.
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