'American Trash' (2024) Movie Review

You may not immediately know the name Robert LaSardo, but you know Robert LaSardo. (Though if you’re a regular reader, odds are you’re very familiar with the man and his work.) He’s the guy you call when your movie needs a heavily tattooed, badass-looking motherfucker. In his 170-plus credits, with more than 50(!) on the way according to IMDb, he’s played vampires, gangsters, and heavies of all stripes. In addition to being an Adler Studio-trained actor, he’s also a veteran. So it only makes sense his first outing as a director, American Trash, focuses on a former soldier struggling with PTSD as a result of his experiences. 

LaSardo plays Milles, a troubled vet living on the fringes, drifting, picking trash in a vain, esoteric search for atonement. He finds a lifeline when he encounters the young, free-spirited environmentalist/Charles Manson enthusiast, Melissa (Lorelei Linklater, Boyhood). But what the pair has is too good, too idyllic to survive. When Melissa is murdered in a random act of violence, Milles begins to unravel.

 

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This sounds like the set up for a bloody revenge saga where the protagonist goes on a rampage and lays waste to evil doers. Another movie would have gone that route. But while he’s appeared in plenty of those, LaSardo, who also wrote the script, has other things on his mind, and, at every step, chooses not to follow that obvious path. Instead, he uses the trappings of violence and vengeance as a meditative platform to deliver dreamy, poetic musings on love and redemption, the ugliness that so often surrounds us, explorations of the lives of people desperately clinging to the periphery of society and finding connections while barely hanging on. Weighty and bleak, there aren’t a lot of heroes to find, but at the same time, the movie isn’t particularly interested in that black and white binary, choosing to live in the uncomfortable grays of the shadows.

 

American Trash works best when it hews close to Milles, particularly early as he and Melissa bond, and later, as his past and grief build to a feverish, perhaps inevitable conclusion. The narrative loses its way somewhat in the middle ground, when it brings Melissa’s semi-estranged family and friends into the fold, or tags along with the cops (Tom Sizemore for a scene and Costas Mandylor for the remainder). It’s the time spent with Milles, in his head, in his emotions, that sets the film apart and that is much more compelling in comparison. Still, with the strong anchors upfront and in the end, it’s not difficult to get past the “the city has become a hellscape” thread.

 

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American Trash is clearly a personal story and a passion project. In addition to starring, writing, and directing, LaSardo also self-financed the picture. That drive, perspective, and singular vision shine through in every scene. The film never makes the easy choices, and you can’t help but be curious to watch a familiar face develop in a new role behind the camera.