Director: Katarina Zhu
Writer: Katarina Zhu
Stars: Katarina Zhu, Austin Amelio, Sarah Baskin
Synopsis: A cam girl navigates a toxic client relationship while reconnecting with her estranged, dying father, exploring complex relationships and family dynamics.
Katarina Zhu’s Bunnylovr is such an assured debut that you’ll find yourself completely won over by the trance state it places you in. Rebecca (Zhu) is a camgirl living in Brooklyn. That’s all Zhu initially reveals to us. She’s quite friendly with the patrons of her chat room. It’s important to remember that this isn’t an indication of genuine personality. And that’s not a dig. It’s merely an honest observation about the transactional nature of sex work; especially of the online variety. It’s this honesty that makes Bunnylovr quite the debut feature. It feels so sure of itself that it isn’t afraid to grapple with the potential harm that can come from the situations Rebecca finds herself in. Zhu’s film is obviously pro sex-work. Still, there’s almost a warning of sorts to be found in this film. It comes in the form of an honest condemnation. Many of the customers we see interacting with Rebecca in Bunnylovr are observed to be harshly demanding. They feel they have a right to this sort of behavior involving creepy requests due to that transactional relationship at play. And so, Bunnylovr becomes a character study that observes how this can ultimately affect an individual. Just because it’s across a laptop screen doesn’t mean it can’t have a lasting effect on somebody.
The film begins with Rebecca in a group chat amongst her fans. There’s playful banter, plenty of tips being sent her way, and the occasional creep. Swiftly blocking the anonymous guest, you get the sense that Rebecca doesn’t play games when it comes to her camgirl occupation. Zhu, both as playing this character and in writing her, understands the very real danger that comes with sex work. Over the course of this patient film, we come to learn that Rebecca’s online persona is vastly different from her daily life offline. But before Zhu shows us this other side of Rebecca, she receives a private message from a chat member with an ominous request. The topic of loneliness comes up once Rebecca creates a private video chat for the two of them. She inquires whether or not she has the ability to help with their loneliness. Not turning on their camera, all we can gather is the strange and foreboding tone these messages convey. They say they’re sending Becca something to help with her loneliness.
From here, Bunnylovr essentially remains disconnected from Rebecca. We’re purely observing her from the outside as she mostly remains sealed off from the world around her. Zhu even goes about this in a way that’s not only literal, but exciting from a filmmaking perspective. During one morning routine, Zhu places a camera in the corner of Rebecca’s room. We’re shown a sped-up montage of her tasks captured through a fish-eye lens. It perfectly captures the sense of always being observed Bunnylovr appears to be going for. Not to mention it feels shockingly similar to that of a webcam. Everything is fully in focus, so there’s no single point directly calling our attention. We’re merely meant to observe and try to glean all we can from Rebecca over the course of this film. This visual of being made privy to her just waking up is also something that feeds back into the themes of Bunnylovr. The primary one? How Rebecca feels obligated to be tied to her camgirl work and sexuality.
There are so many instances in Bunnylovr that involve Rebecca sacrificing her time for men.
The first example is with her ex-boyfriend, Carter (Jack Kilmer). Although she tells Bella (Rachel Sennott) that they haven’t spoken in ages and won’t backslide, we later see her in his bed. There’s no judgement to be found in Zhu’s film, but there is a sadness to be felt. The reason is clear from how he treats Rebecca. As they are wrapping up their night, Rebecca proposes the idea of them getting back together. He brushes it off with a typical male non-answer, only to then ask for his set of keys back and have her call her own Uber home. Rebecca deserves better, and Zhu plays it in a way that makes it seem she knows it as well. She instead escapes into her chat rather than dwell on these emotions further. It’s here that the second example of the film reveals itself in the mysterious chat member, “Jas”. Eventually revealed to be a man named John (the always-great Austin Amelio), his character further pushes this idea that Bunnylovr is a film partly about condemning the ways in which men impart burdens unto sex workers. Though avoiding larger plot points here, John’s actions are incredibly discomforting and often menacing. Casting Amelio, especially after his excellently dark turn in Hit Man, feels like a distinct choice. Between the mysterious nature of the script and how Amelio plays him, it certainly feels like Bunnylovr was positioning itself to be a thriller at one point. There is a clear-cut danger to be found in some of his actions. And the film regularly revisits how men feel they can override a woman’s time and place unwanted responsibilities on them. That Bunnylovr feels as if it’s building to something more genre-influenced and then backs out is upsetting. But Bunnylovr was never necessarily that film to begin with. It’s far more interested in the drama that can be found in an observational character study.
The third key relationship to be examined in Bunnylovr is the one between Rebecca and her distant father, referred to as William (Perry Yung). It takes a while for Zhu to outright reveal the inner workings of this father/daughter relationship. But how she scripts the introductory sequence of William is telling enough. It’s disorienting to both the viewer and Rebecca, by design. Although Rebecca is clearly in a rush when they unexpectedly run into one another on the street, his repeated insistence breaks down her guard enough to grab a quick coffee. Like so much of this film, Rebecca is placed into discomforting situations by men who she doesn’t owe anything to. But Zhu explores this relationship with both a tender screenplay and camerawork. One line of William’s in particular stands out as they begin to rebuild their clearly fractured relationship: “It’s nice not having to answer to anyone.” While this can clearly be taken as a bit selfish considering his and Rebecca’s relationship, it feels like Rebecca would love nothing more than to share that sentiment. Instead, we see how John and Carter don’t allow her this freedom through late-night texts still asking to come over and impromptu chat room demands while Rebecca is at work or going out with friends.
This pervasive sense of loneliness builds throughout Bunnylovr until Rebecca attends Bella’s art gallery opening. As she finds herself getting drowned out by the circling friends insisting on postgame plans and her overwhelming emotions regarding the art based on her likeness, her father, and her increasingly frequent conversations with John, Rebecca turns inwards. She retreats into a hermetic lifestyle and removes herself from situations with friends and family. It’s an all-too relatable feeling, and Zhu captures it both quite beautifully and painfully. Lit by the harsh glow of her laptop, Rebecca is searching for a way out. All we can hope for is that she does so through a relationship that is beneficial for her. As Bella tells her earlier in the film, “Introduce the new.” With that in mind, Bunnylovr would likely feel a bit more impactful in its closing moments if it went a bit farther into developing the relationship between Rebecca and Bella. Upon exploring this friendship a bit more, the moment of catharsis and subsequent finale of the film would feel more impactful. Nevertheless, Bunnylovr is a very strong debut, with a methodical pace that keeps you engaged and focused on its central character.
Bunnylovr is celebrating its world premiere at the 2025 Sundance Film Festival in the U.S. Dramatic Competition category.
