‘Bunnylovr’ review: A rabbit hole of emotions | Sundance 2025

Katarina Zhu directs and stars in Bunnylovr, a messy but lovable warren of a character drama with almost zero fluff.

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Part of me couldn’t make hares or tails of Bunnylovr. Just about every time I thought I had a handle on the film, it bounced off in another direction, twisting me around a maze of one woman’s struggle to overcome loneliness. Directed with fearless intimacy by Katarina Zhu, who also stars in nearly every scene, this is an unapologetically messy, discomforting deep dive into the life of a young Chinese American cam girl trying to navigate toxic relationships and a surprisingly pivotal rabbit. Yes, you read that right. The rabbit—wide-eyed, innocent, and far more than a furry prop—becomes the film’s icon. A stand-in for all the burdens Zhu’s protagonist can’t let go of but doesn’t know how to handle. Big warning for animal lovers: while nothing “completely” explicit happens, the film dances on the edge of implied harm, which might make some viewers want to scurry away.

Zhu’s performance as Becca is mesmerizing. A perfect mix of sharp wit and soft vulnerability that makes her protagonist impossible to pin down. She’s exhausting to endure, much like the men she’s entangled with. But even she’s aware of this problem, even calling herself potentially evil at one point. The film pulls no punches in showing the cyclical nature of her anxieties—every escape plan seems to lead back to square one. And every interaction with the rabbit is like a plea for clarity in a world offering her nothing but disappointment. It’s a journey riddled with complexities: empathy and disgust, trauma and resilience, chaos and control. Zhu doesn’t try to smooth out the rough edges, and the result is both compelling and exasperating.

If the rabbit is the film’s soul, the men surrounding Zhu’s character are its ever-present antagonists. Each more draining and problematic than the last. They’re depicted with a frankness that’s almost caricature but lands just shy of unbelievable. Like watching a train wreck where every passenger thinks they’re in control. The film doesn’t justify their actions or even attempt to understand them. It simply observes how their presence chips away at the protagonist’s ability to cope.

Meanwhile, the rabbit—yes, we’re back to the rabbit—acts as a quiet observer. A symbol of innocence amidst the chaos, and maybe the only character in the film worth rooting for without reservations. Yes, Rachel Sennott is also in this as Becca’s sort-of artist friend, but honestly her presence and importance in this film is weirdly minor.

This is more of a winding, personal journey with several moments of random than it is a carefully constructed cinematic arc abiding by all the rules of storytelling. Which works for the most part, except when some stretches lose their zap. And the lack of momentum in the plot leaves you scratching your ears. Yet it’s also a strangely satisfying choice to avoid the cathartic climax and tidy resolution. What is life but constant emotional inertia, where you’re going down rabbit holes leading nowhere? A bold choice, certainly. And also a precursor to more work from Zhu that could be even more polished and fascinating.

The aesthetic choices, while somewhat understated, definitely amplify the film’s chaotic energy. The cinematography alternates between claustrophobic close-ups and lingering, dreamlike wide shots, mirroring the protagonist’s mental state. The rabbit, filmed with almost reverent care, becomes a striking visual anchor. Its soft fur and twitching nose contrast sharply with the jagged edges of the drama and raw, human comfort. The script, while sparse, relies on subtext and body language to fill in the gaps, leaving the audience to interpret more than they’re explicitly told. It’s not the most poetic, “everything means something else” type of script, but the scattered ambiguity hits just the right note so you’re not hopping in circles.

Bunnylovr is not for everyone, and that’s probably an advertisement more than a criticism. It’s a film that thrives on discomfort and vague asides, and its lack of traditional structure and well-you-just-went-there moments might even make some viewers outright furious. But that’s the gambit when you make a film this personal and raw, where a story about how innocence (both literal and metaphorical) can feel like both a gift and a burden. And it can be reclaimed. Whether you leave the theater bewildered, infuriated, or strangely content, you can at least bet on Bunnylovr sticking with you for a while. And if you ever doubted the emotional power of a rabbit on film, this one will probably set you straight.

Bunnylovr had its world premiere at the Sundance 2025 Film Festival. Find more of our Sundance 2025 coverage here.