Bunny (2025)

Bunny Movie Review

Bear Hands (author)

Hubby Bear

Every so often, a film emerges that reminds us why stories of ordinary people, in ordinary buildings, living decidedly unordinary lives together can feel more profound than any high-budget spectacle. Bunny accomplishes this with unapologetic grit and a surprising amount of heart — a kind of tenement-floor symphony where camaraderie becomes both shield and salvation. One might call it “gritty realism,” though the film itself seems to shrug and say, Yes, life is gritty. Now pass the broom and help me clean this stairwell.

At its core, Bunny is a love letter to the quiet, unspoken solidarity that forms in such spaces. It celebrates neighbors who do not bother with the useless formalities of “What happened?” and instead leap directly into the far more meaningful “What do you need?”.

One of the film’s greatest strengths lies in its casting. The near-total absence of major celebrities proves a blessing: unknown actors carry the story without the burden of our preconceived judgements or parasocial grievances. There is no moment in which we find ourselves muttering, “Oh, there they are again, doing that thing they always do,” or computing whether this particular performance does or does not live up to their award-season campaign three years ago. Instead, we meet characters — full stop — and are allowed the luxury of simply believing them.

Bunny ultimately becomes a reminder that when a film is not preoccupied with showcasing the luminous importance of its stars, it is free to do something far more valuable: tell a story. A humble one, yes. A sometimes bleak one, certainly. But one made radiant by the small, fierce devotion of people who have nothing but each other — and everything because of it.