A British soldier and a German soldier find themselves trapped together in a bombed-out fort during the Second World War in The Black Rock, directed by Andrew Games.
What begins as a tale of conflict quickly transforms into something far more personal, revealing the scars that war leaves behind long after the fighting has stopped.
Rather than the large-scale spectacle the premise might suggest, this is an intimate and tightly focused chamber piece. Almost the entire film unfolds in the darkness of a shattered underground bunker, its crumbling walls echoing with the distant thunder of bombs and gunfire. This enclosed setting becomes a crucible for human connection, forcing two sworn enemies to share not just physical space but their fears, regrets and hidden grief.
The narrative is framed by a present-day thread set in 1983. An ageing British veteran named Charlie, portrayed with quiet vulnerability by Martin Riley, steps into a church and makes a long-delayed confession to a priest. What he reveals takes us back to the summer of 1940 during Operation Sea Lion. There, as a young soldier (played by Charles Riley), Charlie stumbles into a German-occupied bunker and finds himself face to face with Heinrich, a lone German soldier embodied by Kyle Brookes. A sudden bombing leaves them both injured, cut off from their comrades, and unsure if they will survive.
At first their exchanges are sharp and suspicious, each man wary of the other’s every move. Yet as hours blur into days, the hostility softens. They begin to talk—not about tactics or politics, but about their lives, their homes, and the personal losses that have hollowed them out. It’s here that the film shines. Brookes brings a grounded, layered presence to Heinrich, his German accent surprisingly convincing (audiences may remember his work from A Light Through Coloured Glass and Chapel of Rest). Riley, as the younger Charlie, captures the trembling fear of a man staring down the barrel of a rifle, yet slowly finds the courage to see his enemy as human.
This small-scale story is elevated by superb production design and atmosphere. With a budget of only £2,000, it’s remarkable how authentic the period setting feels. Filmed in a genuine WWII fortress used during The Blitz, the location lends natural grit and claustrophobia. Props like battered radios, weathered uniforms, period weapons, and even playing cards featuring Winston Churchill help create a sense of time and place. Handheld camerawork and lingering close-ups intensify the feeling of confinement, pulling the viewer into the soldiers’ psychological descent.
Sound design plays an equally vital role. The distant rumble of bombing and the muffled crack of gunfire seep into nearly every moment, building an invisible world beyond the bunker walls. The score enhances this tension without overwhelming it. The one noticeable technical flaw is occasional soft focus, likely the result of cramped conditions and limited access to the right lenses. It’s a small distraction, but worth noting.
Though the plot is rooted in wartime, Black Rock is more concerned with what happens inside people than outside. Themes of fear, loss, and trauma intertwine with ideas of confession, redemption and the haunting aftermath of violence. The older Charlie’s need to unburden himself makes clear how profoundly the encounter changed him.
At just sixty minutes, the film sits awkwardly between short and feature lengths, which may make festival programming tricky. Yet its emotional impact is undeniable. With striking performances, inventive use of location, and an unexpectedly moving exploration of humanity, The Black Rock is a powerful, poignant piece of filmmaking that lingers long after its final frame.
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