J Paul Johnson
Bunny is having a hell of a day. In the first scene of the film by the same name, the titular character, a sex worker, is on the run, sweaty, disheveled, bloody, in a panic, before he makes it back safely to his Lower East Side apartment. There, things slow down, if only a bit: his girlfriend has planned a Molly-merry ménage à trois for his birthday, and his fellow tenants are in seemingly constant need of his help and companionship. Bunny—played by co-writer Mo Stark—is a popular guy. And over the next 24 hours, things are going to get infinitely more complicated in this brilliant little nugget of a crime-caper comedy from Stark, who co-wrote with Stefan Marolachakis and director/co-star Ben Jacobson. Bunny is a love letter to New York City and a witty, charming, laugh-out-loud uncut gem of a film.
Yep, that’s a not-too-sly Safdie Brothers reference, and viewers will get why with Bunny‘s hectic pace, street-smart plot, and mix of comedy and action. There is so, so much going on, and the film’s location—Stark’s actual apartment and the others in a single tenement—makes for a perfect set for Jackson Hunt’s constantly roving camera. The narrow halls and steep stairways guarantee the characters frequently interrupt each other and have next to no privacy. It’s perfect for the plot’s shenanigans, bringing into close contact the film’s dozen or more principal characters.
Bunny, it turns out, isn’t much in the mood for the threesome his girlfriend Bobbie, (played by his real-life wife Liza Colby, a well-known figure in NYC music scene) proposes. He’s more concerned about the scene he was running from earlier, and with good reason: there’s now an enforcer outside his tenement, looking for revenge. Not to mention two local cops with an eye out for something suspicious. Meanwhile, inside, things are complicated by the unannounced arrival of Bobbie’s estranged father Loren (Tony Drazan), an emotional and physical wreck. Bunny’s best friend Dino (Jacobson) responds by offering Loren more than a few too many chewables. There’s also a quirky Airbnb guest, a nosy-but-maternal landlady, a gaggle of party-planning girls, and more, almost all of whom intersect at one point or another.
As if that weren’t enough, soon Bunny has not one, but two dead bodies on the scene, at least one of which needs to be disposed of without the snoopy cops or neighbors noticing. The plot bounces around the tenement halls like pinball, but the film’s editing and pacing is perfect. Some scenes thrill with suspense; others punctuate the tension with an expertly-timed visual gag or pithy comment. As Bunny and Dino try harder and harder to dispose of the corpse, their efforts require more and more complexity—and, occasionally, some suspension of disbelief—but the film’s oddball cast of characters keeps things lively and on point.
As Bunny, Stark anchors the film with a surfer-dude calm that belies the urgency his character faces. His big biceps flexing out of his gifted Basketball Diaries jersey (a fun callout to a beloved New York book, author, and movie) and his long dreadlocks flowing about, Bunny is a physical presence but also a man his neighbors trust and value. Stark has written a role for himself that makes the most of his physical attributes but also grounds the plot. As Bunny’s bestie Dino, director and co-writer Jacobson, provides the film’s comic comic relief with his inopportune comments and unlikely suggestions. All of the cast is great, with Colby, Drazan, and Linda Rong Mei Chen as their landlady Linda getting some excellent lines.
It’s hard to predict if Bunny will find the audience its predecessors have, but when all is said and done—and in 90 minutes or so, all is—it, like Do the Right Thing, Taxi Driver, or After Hours, a love letter to New York, not just a successful genre exercise but something that succeeds in capturing the eccentricities of its denizens. They may be goofs, weirdos, whatever, but they can bond together to take care of their own, especially in a pinch and despite their differences. Bunny isn’t just a sex-worker with biceps; he’s the glue that holds together the fragile network on which they all, in one way or another, rely.
