Tunnel

I held my breath watching the film. To me, it was deeply moving. I trembled at times as I watched it. Anyone who has been to Cu Chi has likely heard stories about the terror of both the guerrilla fighters and the sweeping raids. But seeing it all brought to life in the film filled me with both fear and admiration. The story and the way it was told were very different from typical state-produced films - deeply human, incredibly raw, and full of real life. The characters and details were developed with consultation from real heroes of the past war. Although I was on the verge of tears many times while watching the film, Dia Dao is certainly not a tearjerker. Instead, it lets us experience the restrained emotions of the soldiers, who had to suppress their feelings because danger was always present - there was no room for soft emotions to take over. At the same time, the personal stories, the bonds, and the genuine affection among humble people truly help us believe in and better understand the many reasons behind the victories of Cu Chi in particular, and Vietnam as a whole.

The movie follows a scrappy 21-person Vietnamese guerrilla squad that ends up in the crosshairs of a US forces search and destroy mission. Their task is to protect a newly arrived strategic intelligence team hiding at their base, no matter what it takes. The plot isn't overly complex, so the film hooks you more with the characters' inner struggles than with battlefield tactics.

I really liked how the story kicks off with a lost soldier stumbling into the guerrilla team's tunnel network. It sparks some funny and engaging moments that flesh out the bonds between the Vietnamese soldiers. But as the film hits its midpoint, the escalating tension of the war with the US army starts to drown out those emotional connections. I get why it shifts that way, but it's a pity the soldiers' sacrifices didn't land with more weight. It would've hit harder if the director had ramped up the emotional stakes, especially when the guerrilla leader, a key figure, meets his end. That moment deserved a bigger payoff.

There's a touch of sex in the film too nothing overdone, and it feels grounded. I think it's a realistic nod to something rarely explored in stories about Vietnam War soldiers. After all, these are young guys in their prime, still human despite the chaos.

The sound design really stands out. The director nails the raw punch of bombs and gunfire. Visually, it's strong too smart camera angles and solid framing. That's a huge plus in making the film feel real as it brings history to life.

A short and succinct summary of one of many battles conducted during the VN war. Dark and realistic, director Chuyen takes artistic liberties yet still fully immerse audience in VN in the 1900s. The cast was a fresh and enthusiastic ensemble which brought a much needed breath of fresh air to the acting quality. The story, although rough around the edges, paints a lovely picture of the patriotism and humanity of the characters (more like children) involved in the preservation of indepence. The ending was artisticly beautiful, albeit I believe it leaves audience with more emotions than actual answers, conclusive endings to the stories told.

Politically, the film echoes the tone of past propaganda cinema-drawing a clear, almost cartoonish line between the heroic, morally flawless Vietnamese fighters and the evil, inhuman enemy. Such reductionist storytelling undermines the very complexity of history, turning real human suffering into scripted spectacle. Modern audiences, especially younger generations who have grown up with access to global perspectives, no longer respond to one-sided narratives. They seek stories with depth, vulnerability, and moral ambiguity-something dia dao completely lacks.

More importantly, the film weaponizes patriotism in a heavy-handed way. Rather than trusting viewers to feel national pride through authentic, human storytelling, it forces them into admiration with loud speeches, dramatic music, and hollow symbols. In doing so, it disrespects the intelligence of its audience and, paradoxically, cheapens the very ideals it sets out to honor.

As an American viewer, I walked into Tunnels: Sun in the Dark expecting a compelling war film. I walked out transformed. This is not just a war movie. It is poetry carved into the darkness of history, a cinematic requiem for those who fought battles unseen, underground, and in the shadows of superpowers. The director delivers a harrowing, intimate, and profoundly human story set during one of the most divisive conflicts in modern history: the Vietnam War. Set in 1967, Tunnels follows a Vietnamese revolutionary guerrilla team entrusted with protecting a hidden group of intelligence agents-the heartbeat of their resistance. What unfolds is not only a tense and thrilling survival narrative but an exploration of loyalty, sacrifice, and the slow-burning light of hope that flickers even in the blackest tunnels. The film's cinematography is nothing short of stunning. The contrast between the oppressive, suffocating underground passages and the rare, golden moments of daylight evokes both fear and longing. You can feel the earth pressing in. You can hear the silence between each heartbeat. And in those moments, you understand what it meant to live like a shadow. The performances-raw, restrained, and utterly magnetic-do not seek applause. They seek truth. Particularly standout is the lead guerrilla commander, whose eyes alone speak volumes of sorrow, determination, and unyielding resolve. The writing never panders. It respects the intelligence of its audience while remaining unflinchingly honest about the toll of war on both body and soul. As an American, I was humbled. Tunnels: Sun in the Dark does not preach, vilify, or romanticize. It illuminates. It reminds us that history is not owned by the victors alone. It belongs to the buried voices, the hidden fighters, the forgotten dreams that once burned bright in the dark. This film is a gift-a mirror held to the past, but also a light for our collective future. Watch it. Feel it. Remember it. 10/10 - A masterpiece that should echo through every corridor of film history.