In Bunnylovr, Becca is often lit by the blue glow of a screen, hitting her vape while lying on her bed, which sits frameless on the floor of her Brooklyn apartment. She works as an ᴀssistant for a deeply unpleasant man in Manhattan, but she makes most of her money from camming online, with much of that income coming from one man in particular.

An ᴀssured directorial debut from Katarina Zhu, Bunnylovr is a confident if aimless character study about isolation in the digital era. Becca self-sabotages when it comes to her real-life relationships – she often avoids plans with friends and continues to hook up with a toxic ex – but that self-sabotage seems to bleed into the film’s structure, pushing the audience away when it should be pulling us in by the throat.

Bunnylovr Is A Promising Debut From Katarina Zhu

Zhu Writers, Directs, & Stars In The Film

Because of Zhu’s top-to-bottom involvement, Becca and Bunnylovr have a lived-in feel that makes its observations on her life feel intensely personal. The film essentially follows two threads, one about her relationship with her online paramour after he gifts her a pet rabbit and the other about Becca reconnecting with her terminally ill father (Perry Young).

At Bunnylovr‘s Sundance premiere, Zhu talked of her own estranged relationship with her father, who she hadn’t spoken to for 15 years before his death. Becca’s reunion with her father is Zhu’s way of “going down the rabbit hole” and imagining what it would be like if they had reconnected after a chance encounter.

This reunion seems to activate something in Becca, who grows increasingly fascinated with her online suitor (Austin Amelio) as she gets closer to her dad. To simply write this off as daddy issues would feel like a disservice to the film, though. Becca admits to herself that many of her inclinations are perverse, but she struggles to understand why that is or how that fits into who she wants to be.

She looks to people like her dad and Amelio’s character for answers, but neither of them have any. This acceptance of the self, even its ugliest parts, has to come from within. The journey to that place is an empathetic one, but there is something soft about the way Zhu approaches some of the more evocative and emotional elements of Bunnylovr‘s story.

At the premiere, Zhu talked about versions of the film that were more provocative, saying she eventually pulled back from getting too “dark.” I would have liked to see this darker version of the film – though Becca’s apathy is palpable, the purposelessness bleeds into the feel of the film in a way that undercuts the effectiveness of some moments.

Zhu pulls punches when it comes to emotion, as if Becca’s own trouble with connecting to the external world is manifesting in the script. Zhu uses intimate close-ups quite often, a bit on the nose, but it evokes the claustrophobic digital box she speaks to her internet fans through, where she is more emotive than she is in her detached day-to-day interactions.

It’s clear Becca is more comfortable being seen by strangers than she is the people in her life. Growing up with the internet, it’s not hard to see why she feels that way. Faceless accounts are terrifying when they hate you, but can become quite addicting when they express adoration.

Despite some of Bunnylovr‘s shortcomings, Zhu has a knack for filmmaking, and it’s an exciting debut for the young artist. Care has been put into every aspect of this film, from the excellent needledrops to the minor character details that make Becca feel relatable and unfamiliar at once.

Bunnylovr premiered at the 2025 Sundance Film Festival on January 25.