Sundance Review: Bunnylovr is an Engaging yet Chaotic Character Exploration of Social Isolation.

      Sensitive and nuanced, Katarina Zhu’s directorial debut Bunnylovr serves as an intriguing character study that struggles to fully comprehend the chaotic life of Becca (Zhu), a personal assistant by day and cam girl by night. This may be intentional, as the film frequently approaches something captivating only to retreat––perhaps reflecting Becca’s own experience as a millennial feeling stuck. She is initially attracted to a mysterious client who declines to appear on camera with her at first. The Philadelphia native sends her a rare bunny as a companion before insisting she perform a show. The connection seems more driven by loneliness and isolation than mere fetish, yet the film keeps the stranger’s motivations somewhat unclear until he establishes the ground rules, explicitly stating that it is a transaction.

      Residing in Manhattan’s Lower East Side, Becca is supported by a network that includes her dying father William (Perry Yung), a gambler with a strained bond with his daughter, and her best friend Bella (Rachel Sennott), an artist experiencing success and the pressures that accompany it. While Bella and Becca frequent the same social circles, their relationship appears to be drifting apart. Bella is also dealing with a breakup with Carter (Jack Kilmer), a sudden turn of events that leaves much of the background offscreen.

      Bunnylovr shines in its nuance and observant approach. Cinematographer Daisy Zhou captures Becca in tightly framed shots, often illuminated by the blue glow of a computer screen as she navigates her life. The film doesn't dwell on exposition, though it later reveals more about her relationship with her father. Becca works during the day managing her client’s accounts until she is terminated for various reasons, including tardiness and using her client’s work computer to access the cam site.

      Backed into a corner, she agrees to meet her online client John (Austin Amelio, who left a sinister mark in Hit Man) in Philadelphia, in a scene that unfolds unexpectedly. Since the film largely presents Becca’s perspective, we don't learn much about John aside from a few personal details: he hails from Northern Pennsylvania and is going through a divorce. Before they meet, Becca informs John that their bunny Milk has died, succumbing to "shock" from his odd request in a previous discussion. Like the bunny, Becca is also in a state of persistent self-preservation.

      Set in the present, Bunnylovr could be interpreted as a film addressing social isolation in the wake of COVID, reminiscent of Mike Leigh’s Hard Truths. However, its themes are not new, shedding light on the solitude that can accompany small-apartment living predominantly conducted online. The film nearly achieves a hypnotic, fever-dream ambiance that it seeks. Although individual elements are evocative, Zhu’s directorial debut feels both frustrating and captivating; it struggles to feel like a cohesive whole. Similarly, Becca lacks a sense of cohesion, presenting a dilemma for the film: must it also refrain from investing in relationships simply because she does, possibly influenced by depression and loneliness?

      Sparse, rough around the edges, and brimming with potential, the mood conveys the sense of a post-Brat Summer hangover, where life rushes by Becca as she struggles. At times, this approach proves effective, yet it falls short of achieving the emotional depth found in other minimalist films about urban loneliness, like So Yong Kim’s In Between Days. Zhu delivers a sympathetic performance, but her directorial debut somehow feels somewhat hollow, intentionally disconnected.

      Bunnylovr premiered at the 2025 Sundance Film Festival.

      Grade: C+