If you are a fan of gritty 1990s indie film and have a taste for screwball comedy and eccentric Coen-esque characters, then Bunny is for you. If not, you may find some of the shenanigans here a bit tiresome. Luckily for me, I break toward the former camp and find Bunny an absolute delight.

Quite simply, something bad happens to Bunny: A goon tracks comes into the building where he lives, tracking him down. In self-defense, Bunny accidentally kills him. Then there is a race to hide the body. That’s it. That’s what’s brought to the table. The quirky characters in the building and the way the obstacles pile up is the secret sauce—that and the friendship of Bunny (co-writer Mo Stack) and Dino (co-writer and director Ben Jacobson).

Bunny and Dino are what you get if Bill & Ted lived in a tenement in the Lower East Side. They’re not dumb by any stretch, but the ideas they come up with aren’t, let’s say, the most practical. The events of this particular day are stretching their brain cells to the limit. There’s the dead body to think about. Bunny’s wife, Bobbie (Liza Colby), brings home a girl for a threesome, and she is all horned up on molly. Bobbie’s estranged father, Loren (Tony Drazen), shows up unexpectedly for a visit, while Bunny and Bobbie have an Airbnb guest (Genevieve Hudson-Price) who is very particular in her religious demands. The list goes on. Oh, and there are two cops (Liz Caribel Sierra and Ajay Naidu) parked outside the building, although they are more interested in the best food options in the neighborhood than actually investigating any crime.

The fun comes as Bunny and Dino’s attempt to get the body (there are actually two bodies, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves) out of the apartment. In the great tradition of community and “it takes a village” attitude, the group of tenants decides to help out. Options are explored, attempted, discarded, and revisited as Bunny and Dino bicker, crack inside jokes, and ultimately have each other’s back.

Jacobson and Stack’s script has a casual, throwaway feel to its humor. Most of the laughs come from muttered asides or afterthoughts that permeate the conversation—there is a lot of talking. It’s as if Woody Allen grew up listening to Nirvana. Bunny, who is in his mid-to-late 30s, is the go-to guy for everyone in the building, whether it is bringing down the laundry for a neighbor with a disability or helping the twentysomethings set up for a party. He is a giving soul with greasy, stringy long hair, a gold tooth, and a stacked torso. Dino, the perfect complement, is perpetually stoned but always making sure everyone is comfortable.

Jacobson’s ability to rack up the tension and the laughs is impressive. Working on what is clearly a low budget, he manages to give a distinct feel for the neighborhood while keeping the cacophony from going out of control, just barely. He is spinning plates, and if one crashes, that is the one that is meant to crash. That he’s also a lead makes the feat even more impressive. He pulls together a terrific ensemble of actors that have different comedic styles, yet everything coheres.

Bunny could well be on its way to being a cult film, but that would be a shame. With its emphasis on community and forgiveness, it is exactly the type of film we need right now.