A Brutal, Bleeding Love Letter to the Forgotten and Forsaken

MOVIE REVIEW
American Trash
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Genre: Drama
Year Released: 2024, 2025
Runtime: 1h 50m
Director(s): Robert LaSardo
Writer(s): Robert LaSardo, Adrian Milnes
Cast: Robert LaSardo, Lorelei Linklater, Costas Mandylor, Tom Sizemore, Gigi Gustin, Elissa Dowling, Johnny Ray Gibbs, William T. Amos, Sheila Ball, Mark Thompson, Eli Jeffree Zen
Where to Watch: available to stream now on various VOD sources, watch now, here: www.amazon.com

RAVING REVIEW: Some films follow the rules. Others rewrite them. AMERICAN TRASH, written, directed, and led by Robert LaSardo, falls into the latter category—an unapologetically personal, emotionally charged meditation that blends abstract storytelling with real-world scars. It’s not here to entertain in a conventional sense. It’s here to speak—quietly, painfully, and often beautifully—to the people willing to listen.

LaSardo plays Milles, a combat veteran whose daily existence feels weighed down by trauma, disillusionment, and the quiet collapse of the world around him. But this isn’t a story built around conflict or catharsis. Instead, it leans heavily into internal pacing, letting imagery, mood, and spoken reflections carry the weight of the narrative. The structure is elliptical, more like memory than chronology, giving the film a dreamlike quality that matches the character’s fractured psyche.

It’s risky to strip away traditional plot points in favor of impressionistic storytelling, but LaSardo’s intent is clear. He’s crafting a cinematic journal of grief, anger, resilience, and vulnerability. The visuals—many shots amid the aftermath of real-life devastation in Los Angeles—mirror the psychological landscape of someone trying to find meaning in the wreckage. Rather than running from his past or the persona he's known for, LaSardo uses that foundation to build something raw and reflective. He isn’t just telling a story; he’s confronting one.

Lorelei Linklater's Melissa provides a grounded, soulful presence that helps tether the film to something more emotionally accessible. Her quiet strength and understated honesty complement LaSardo’s more internal performance. There’s a gentleness to her work here that doesn’t demand attention but gradually earns it—she becomes a reflection of possibility within a world burdened by regret.

Also central to the film’s core is Gigi Gustin as Mandy, Melissa’s sister, who shines as one of the film’s most emotionally layered figures. She brings an undeniable screen presence, balancing strength and softness in a role that could’ve easily drifted into abstraction but instead lands with resonance. Gustin adds a welcome energy, embodying the resilience and fragility that make her character feel human. Among the supporting cast, she leaves one of the strongest impressions.

What’s admirable about AMERICAN TRASH is how deeply it reflects LaSardo’s commitment to crafting something meaningful that sits with you instead of spelling everything out. This film is intimate, raw, and made with an artist’s eye rather than a commercial one. The camera often lingers on quiet moments, sometimes long past where another filmmaker might cut, challenging the viewer to sit in that discomfort and reflection alongside the characters.

Equally worth mentioning is the atmosphere LaSardo crafts—Los Angeles feels less like a city and more like a purgatory. The physical environment becomes its own character: broken but not dead, much like its inhabitants. The supporting cast includes recognizable names, each offering brief but welcome contributions. They serve more tone setters than traditional characters, adding texture to Milles’ journey through a crumbling emotional and physical landscape.

What ultimately defines AMERICAN TRASH is its refusal to simplify pain or healing. LaSardo doesn’t offer solutions—he invites understanding. His decision to explore the interior life of someone labeled as “other” or “damaged” provides a more nuanced lens than we typically see in films about veterans or trauma. This isn’t about redemption or absolution. It’s about truth. And sometimes, that truth is messy and uncomfortable—but no less worth sitting with. LaSardo’s connection to the material is clear. He tells this story with vulnerability in front of and behind the camera. That vulnerability becomes the film’s heartbeat, and his commitment to honest, unfiltered storytelling shines through even in its rough edges.

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[photo courtesy of THE AMERICAN TRASH]

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