Lost Hills, Ca.

It’s rare to see trailer parks treated with dignity in storytelling. From the screwball comedy of Raising Arizona, to the reckless misadventures of The Trailer Park Boys, mobile homes are often used in film as shorthand for irresponsibility. Writer/director Waide Aaron Riddle attempts to challenge this in his short film Lost Hills, Ca. by depicting the trailer park as a proud community, with mixed results.

The film opens with a gravelly, drawling voice (not far from Matthew McConaughey) reading a poem written by Riddle. The speaker confidently asserts that the trailer park is his home: “I’m not embarrassed or ashamed by it”. The audience catches glimpses of his home, clothes on a washing line, and a man (presumably the narrator of the poem) spending time with his mother outside. The scene is tender and human, an uneventful slice of an ordinary life. Shot in close up vignettes, attention is given to small details such as the rollers in the mother’s hair, or the smile of her son. Soon the scene shifts to a backyard party, and the camera narrows its gaze towards bottles of beer in hand and the shirtless bodies of the men gathered there. A great deal of focus is given to male physicality, not just in how their bodies are rendered with strong physicality lifting weights, but also in the gentle vulnerability of an embrace between two men. It’s a surprise to see men from a trailer park depicted unambiguously as gay, and it’s a relief that, in Riddle’s short, there’s no conflict or shame surrounding it. “Am I white trash?” asks the speaker, “Maybe, but I’m happy”. Lost Hills, Ca. centres itself as a story celebrating community, unconditional love, and genuine human connection, deliberately set in an environment that audiences may prejudge as intolerant or hostile.

Lost Hills, Ca. would fairly be described as a tone poem, but unfortunately the audio/visual experience is not one of its strengths. The focus on details and closeups gives very little sense of place in the short, which is a shame considering the setting of the trailer park feels like such an essential component. Audiences may find the imagery repetitive and unchallenging: the trailer park is depicted as fairly sanitised and idyllic, calling into question why the speaker would need to declare that they’re “not embarrassed or ashamed”. The editing feels jarring in places, failing to naturally link together the first two sequences. Coupled with the poor audio quality, the film ends up feeling amateurish, which viewers may be distracted by. Particularly noticeable was the low level background noise cutting out when the speaker finished each line of the poem. To avoid some of the repetitive sound effects in the mix, perhaps more audio could have been recorded on location.The imagery would be more interesting if it didn’t depict each line of the poem literally; some abstraction and visual contrast could have gone a long way in adding to the subtext of the film. Trailer parks are fascinating spaces that reject the typical suburban American Dream, offering a unique sense of freedom and closeness. Leaning into more varied images could enhance the themes that Riddle was gesturing towards and provide the audience with a richer, more challenging experience.

Lost Hills, Ca. is an admirable effort, with an earnest quality that some viewers will resonate with. Pride feels like a relevant theme to think about with Riddle’s short: pride in one’s home, and in one’s identity. There are considerable rough edges in this film, but Riddle's attempt to capture the warmth of community is worthy of praise. With some additional polish, Lost Hills, Ca. could boldly assert itself as a touching statement on self acceptance and unconditional love. As it is, the short may leave audiences wanting something more to chew on.