American Trash

Cast View all

	Robert LaSardo	Milles
	Lorelei Linklater	Melissa
	Costas Mandylor	Detective Anderson
	Tom Sizemore	Detective Kelly
	Gigi Gustin	Mandy
	Elissa Dowling	Linda
	Sheila Ball	Abby
	Sasha Kerbel	Susan
	Johnny Ray Gibbs	Vincent
	Rich R. Rendon	Tai
	Mark Thompson	Charles
	Lance Caver	Jared
	Darren Barcomb	Chaney
	Laura Borrelli	Mary
	William T. Amos	Tex
	Cuete Yeska	Jesus
	Leslie Ivarson	Kathleen
	Greg Tally	Gary
	B. Luciano Barsuglia	Alvin
	Jeff M Hill	Sergeant Crowe
	Elicia Devorah	Sharon
	Emilio Difabio	Carmine
	Dawna Lee Heising	Nurse Carter
	Raymond Vinsik Williams	Officer Koval
	Chance Wilder Onody	Officer T. Hunter

Crew View all

Director	Robert LaSardo
Writer	Robert LaSardo, Adrian Milnes
Producer	Diana Ramos-Santiago Carter, Robert LaSardo, Rafael Portillo, Josh Webber
Musician	Anthony Espina
Photography	Mike Le, Andrew Roberts, Reece Scarpignato

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Notes

My quick rating - 6.1/10. When I got an email from Robert LaSardo himself asking me to check out his directorial debut, American Trash, my jaw hit the floor. This is a guy I’ve been rooting for since the early ’90s, back when he’d pop up just long enough to get thrown through a window by Steven Seagal. But over the years, I watched him evolve, especially with roles like Gang Related, where it became clear LaSardo was a lot more than just a tough guy with tattoos. Now, stepping behind the camera for the first time, he delivers a raw and surprisingly vulnerable story about grief, trauma, and the crumbling environment we call society.

Set in a dystopian vision of Los Angeles, American Trash is not your typical revenge flick, despite what the synopsis might suggest. Don’t come in expecting Milles Carpis (LaSardo) to go full Rambo on everyone after his lover is murdered. This is not that movie. What you get instead is a slow-burn, emotionally driven journey through despair, healing, and introspection. Milles, drowning in pain, leans on a group of modern-day hippies for guidance. Yeah, it sounds a bit out there—but it works. Surprisingly well.

LaSardo’s performance is, as expected, rock-solid. But what really caught me off guard was his ability to direct emotion. There are a few quiet, atmospheric scenes—one in particular comes to mind, where Milles sits isolated amid a tribute—that hit harder than any bullet or explosion. You really feel the loneliness, the absence, and the weight of unresolved grief. It’s in these moments that the film shines.

Now, I’m not sure that listening to old Charles Manson tapes is the healthiest way to cope with the loss of a loved one, but hey, this is American Trash. It’s messy, it’s dark, and it doesn’t always make the most sensible choices—but grief rarely does either. The film explores PTSD, environmental collapse, and the ripple effect of tragedy in a way that feels surprisingly honest. It’s a love story, yes, but it’s also a lesson in the quiet destruction caused by emotional neglect, both personal and societal.

The film isn’t without its flaws. It’s uneven in pacing at times, and some scenes feel like they linger a bit too long on abstract imagery when the story would’ve benefited from a firmer hand. But as a debut, it’s impressive. LaSardo proves he’s more than ready to move beyond bit parts and supporting roles—he has something to say, and now he has a platform to say it.

American Trash is a moody, meditative, and grounded tale that focuses more on emotional consequence than action-packed closure. It may not be for everyone, but if you give it a chance, there’s something real beneath the grime and chaos. And for a first-time director, LaSardo shows that he knows exactly what he’s doing. He just chooses to do it a bit differently.

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