Bunny (2025) — How to Hide a Corpse and Still Miss Your Rent

Niels Gys
Nov 15
4 min read

TL;DR

It’s “Weekend at Bernie’s” meets “Lock, Stock,” if everyone had anxiety and a landlord problem.

Bunny isn’t a slick crime masterpiece—it’s a sweaty, awkward, delightfully stupid sprint through urban desperation. It’s what happens when the perfect crime meets imperfect people.

Bunny is the cinematic equivalent of cleaning blood off a carpet with paper towels and denial—messy, frantic, oddly satisfying. Ready to cover up your own cinematic mistakes? Stream Bunny (2025) on Prime Video — then binge the classics that did panic and paranoia better:

🕳️ Lock, Stock & Two Smoking Barrels (Amazon)
🩸 Snatch (Amazon)
💀 The Boondock Saints (Amazon)

👉 More low-life brilliance inside our CRIME MOVIE REVIEWS HUB

Criminal Fantasy Fulfilment

Every criminal fantasy starts with one thought: I could totally get away with it. Bunny takes that delusion, sets it in a New York apartment block, and lets it fester like expired milk in a communal fridge.

Two mates—Bunny and Dino—accidentally turn their building into a body-hiding co-op, recruiting neighbours who are about as trustworthy as a politician in a ski mask.

There’s no elegant planning, no blueprints, no “one last job.” Just pure, sticky panic and a slow descent into chaos. And honestly? That’s what makes it fun. Watching them scramble to clean up the mess feels gloriously wrong, like cheering for someone shoplifting hand sanitizer during a pandemic.

Plot & Pacing

The film sprints out the gate like a rat chased by a broom, then pauses halfway through to wonder what day it is. The entire story unfolds over one day and night—an inspired setup that traps everyone in the same claustrophobic building. You can smell the bad plumbing and hear the neighbour’s emotional breakdown through the walls.

When the pace works, it really works—you get that lovely tightening of the chest that says “oh God, they’re actually going to do this.” But just as often it slows down long enough for you to check your phone, order a pizza, and still catch the same argument when you get back.

Characters & Performances

Bunny and Dino are the sort of lovable idiots you’d help move a sofa but never trust with your Netflix password. Their chemistry sells the panic—their friendship feels real, the kind of bond forged through shared stupidity.

The neighbours, meanwhile, are the cherry on top: a circus of weirdos who think they’re part of Ocean’s Eleven but have the coordination of a primary school play. Every scene feels like a new layer of dysfunction—exactly how real crime would go if you involved the general public.

Dialogue & Writing

The dialogue has that lived-in charm of people who’ve clearly had a few too many beers before committing a felony. It’s not poetry, it’s not Tarantino—it’s real. Half of it sounds improvised, the rest sounds like someone panicking mid-sentence. Which is fine, because that’s what you’d sound like if you were hiding a corpse under a yoga mat.

World & Atmosphere

Forget glamorous penthouses or neon-lit back alleys. Bunny is all peeling wallpaper, broken fire alarms, and suspicious smells. The tenement building isn’t just a setting—it’s the third main character, constantly reminding you that New York’s “affordable housing” is code for “post-apocalyptic experiment.”

There’s something beautifully grubby about it all. No moral speeches, no lessons learned—just normal people out of their depth, one floor creak away from disaster.

If watching Bunny’s tenants fail upward makes you think “I could plan that better”, prove it:

🎮 Become the criminal yourself in our Top 30 Heist Games 2025 list
🔥 Revisit our PAYDAY 2 criminal mastermind guide
📚 And for pure chaos reading pleasure: The Criminal Mastermind Handbook (PDF) — your roadmap to profitable bad ideas.

Direction & Style

Director Ben Jacobson deserves credit for doing a lot with a small space. The film moves like a fever dream: handheld cameras, frantic editing, and the occasional moment of calm where you can hear your own blood pressure. It’s low-budget filmmaking that doesn’t try to pretend otherwise—more “DIY panic attack” than “cinematic spectacle.”

Still, there’s heart here. You can tell it’s made by people who love this kind of scrappy chaos. And that counts for something.

Soundtrack & Mood

Hamilton Leithauser’s score gives the film a pulse—part indie-rock shuffle, part “I’m about to get evicted” anxiety. It fits perfectly. You’re not vibing to a slick heist groove here; you’re sweating through a stained hoodie while pretending everything’s fine.

Morality & Madness

Bunny doesn’t bother with morality. It’s too busy being funny and weird. The cops barely matter, the crime barely qualifies as one, and everyone’s sense of right and wrong dissolves faster than cheap vodka. The real madness is how quickly decency evaporates when rent’s due and a corpse is blocking the stairs.

Rewatchability / Bingeworthiness

You’ll probably watch it once, grin, and think, yep, that’s exactly how I’d screw up hiding a body. It’s a one-night stand of a movie—fun, frantic, and slightly regrettable in the morning. But you’ll still text it months later when you’re bored.

FAQ

Is Bunny (2025) worth watching? Only if you enjoy watching normal people make spectacularly bad decisions.

Is Bunny a heist movie? No—it’s more of a “don’t get caught with the body” movie.

Does Bunny have big-name gangsters or cops? Nope. Just weirdos, neighbours, and one very inconvenient corpse.

Is it funny? Yes—like watching your friends lie to the police and immediately forget the story.

Will it make me feel guilty for rooting for criminals? Absolutely not. You’ll feel like part of the cover-up.

If you enjoyed Bunny, you’ll love these other dirty delights:

🎞️ “King Ivory” (2025) review → — Oklahoma’s meth underworld with more teeth than sense.
🔫 “Nobody 2” review → — Because retirement is for people who didn’t bring a shotgun.
🕶️ “Top 30 Heist Games to Play in 2025” → — commit digital felonies with fewer witnesses.