‘Bunnylovr’ Review: A Camgirl Struggles to Connect in a Feature Debut That’s Delicate to a Fault

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In Katarina Zhu’s first feature film, “Bunnylovr“, Rebecca, the main character portrayed by Zhu herself, carries a sense of solitude around like an oversized cloak that seems uncomfortable and burdensome. As you watch Rebecca, or Becca as her friends know her, wandering through New York City’s Chinatown and Lower East Side in the movie, it’s clear that this feeling of loneliness weighs heavily upon her.

Her clients are aware, as well. In the evenings, following her work shift as an assistant, Becca works as a camgirl, entertaining strangers online. At the beginning of the movie, one of her regular chat room users inquires about her home address to send her a present. He aims to alleviate her loneliness with a thoughtful gesture. A couple of days later, when Becca unwraps her gift, she discovers it’s a sweet, white rabbit toy.

At the Sundance premiere, the film Bunnylovr follows Becca as she navigates a progressively tense relationship with her recurring client (Jack Kilmer) and reconnects with her father (Perry Yung), who has been diagnosed with a terminal illness. The encounters between these characters are shadowed by those with another: Becca and her ex-boyfriend John (Austin Amelio) have recently split up, leaving them in the limbo of relationships that haven’t fully ended yet. Simultaneously, Becca struggles to both open up to and be there for her friend Bella (Rachel Sennott), who is gearing up for an upcoming art exhibition.

The novel “Bunnylovr” showcases the strong point of its captivating character study of a young woman who grew up on the internet. While not a unique portrayal, author Zhu manages to make it distinctively hers. The story revolves around Becca, a Chinese-American female character, as she navigates one interaction after another, avoiding the closeness that comes with physical presence. She appears detached from her own life, giving off a ghostly aura, which is similar to many contemporary auto-fiction protagonists. However, online Becca transforms; she becomes more open and flirtatious. There’s a touch of playfulness about her too. The attention she receives from anonymous identities in her chat room provides sustenance that real life can’t match.

Zhu masterfully portrays a unique sense of unease that’s common among chronically online younger millennials and older Gen Z members, both as an actress and director. Through subtle body language, she emphasizes Becca’s persistent worry. As a director, she focuses on the way Becca looks at others, revealing a longing in her eyes that is easy to recognize, and a struggle between the urge to form connections and the need for security.

It’s unfortunate that the storytelling in Bunnylovr, by Zhu, falls short on a structural level. Instead of unfolding as a cohesive narrative, Becca’s life is portrayed as a collection of brief episodes or snapshots, each captivating individually but leaving an overall impression that’s incomplete and limited. These vignettes hint at the depth of Becca’s melancholic battles, suggesting a richer, more complex character than what’s presented.

Following Becca getting a rabbit from a client named Carter, her life becomes exceptionally busy. Carter requests more and more time from Becca, which she grants since he pays her $500 for each private conversation, a sum she needs. During these video calls, he asks her to interact with the bunny, stating that he finds it pleasing to watch her care for the delicate animal.

Initially, Becca, who’s been feeling the sting of no communication from her former partner, finds pleasure in these talks that border on thrilling risk. However, they carry an undercurrent of unease, especially when Carter proposes actions she finds strange. In collaboration with cinematographer Daisy Zhou, Zhu shoots these sequences with subtle horror elements; the close-up shots add a chilling ambiance accentuated by Eli Keszler’s eerie music.

While Becca establishes limits with Carter, she simultaneously rekindles her relationship with her father, William. An unexpected encounter occurs when Becca is running behind schedule for work on a busy day in the Lower East Side and Chinatown. Zhu skillfully portrays the bustling atmosphere of these areas, utilizing New York’s crowds to emphasize Becca’s solitude by not highlighting her character amidst the crowd; instead, she allows her to blend in and become lost. When William offers Becca a coffee, she accepts, and they share memories of their past running an illegal card game scam. They momentarily revive the scheme, and these brief scenes hint at hidden aspects of Zhu, revealing fragments of a self that once felt more attached to others. The father-daughter relationship carries a subtle warmth tinged with nostalgic sadness, leaving me yearning for more interactions between them.

While Becca’s bond with her best friend Bella might appear straightforward on the outside, it seems that Becca also encounters challenges within this relationship. Scenes depicting their time together, primarily of Bella painting Becca for a portrait, are included, but the reasons behind their continued friendship remain unclear. Providing additional context would have enhanced understanding, particularly since the significant impact of their friendship on the film’s climax in the third act doesn’t seem fully justified.

As “Bunnylovr” transitions from one scene to another, Zhu’s narrative often feels fragmented and incomplete. Some storylines fail to fully capitalize on the tension they establish, while others are so captivating that they warrant more attention. While some of the film’s abstract nature can be attributed to Becca’s personal struggles, much of its instability seems to stem from a slightly overly diffuse narrative focus.

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2025-01-26 21:25