Debut: ‘The Truck’ Captures A Nation In Reverse
Navigating the setbacks of post-Roe America as a woman is tumultuous, to say the very least—especially in the South, where religious ideology and misogyny are deeply entrenched in the culture. Writer-director Liz Rao’s The Truck is a pertinent examination of contemporary life in the United States, where freedoms that were once protected have suddenly vanished and the current administration rules with an iron fist, putting countless people at risk.
Jo (Shirley Chen) and Arash (Daniel Zolghadri) are deeply in love—innocent, wide-eyed, and caught in a classic, all-encompassing teenage romance. The short opens with the two lying together in a bedroom, their puppy love supported by the mise-en-scène of an innocuously decorated teenager’s room. They discuss their future dreams: Jo plans to embark on a world tour, and Arash is happy to be her groupie.
The couple’s safe haven is short-lived, as reality begins to seep in during Jo’s bike ride through their small town. Her trek is accompanied by the film's score, full of Southern twang, and intensified by the multiple churches she passes. The traditional rural American setting makes itself known immediately, ominously looming behind her and posing a threat.
Jo enters a dimly lit drugstore that instantly radiates an unsafe energy—a far cry from the warmth of the bedroom seen just moments earlier. American memorabilia litters the walls, including a “God Bless America” sign hung prominently behind the pharmacy counter, starkly out of place. In the feminine hygiene section, a mother holds a baby, whom Jo stares down, an abrupt reminder of why she’s there in the first place.
The couple is attempting to buy morning-after pills, an act that heavily contrasts with the store’s conservative atmosphere. Rao allows the setting to speak for itself in the scene, cleverly building the short’s intensity frame by frame without the need for dialogue.
To no surprise, the pharmacist refuses Jo’s request for contraceptives, going as far as to ignore it entirely. Rao explains that their time in the pharmacy represents “stepping outside of that bubble of love and youth and being smacked in the face with the reality of what larger forces are at play.” Desperate and clearly in over their heads, the couple resorts to asking a stranger outside the store to buy the pills for them. The man, Mason (Garrett Richmond), agrees, but his demeanor suggests an ulterior motive—unlikely to be a mere good Samaritan looking to lend a hand.
Mason demands $200 for the pills—far above their retail cost—preying upon Jo and Arash’s vulnerability and wielding his privilege against them. The two are forced to sell their bikes for a measly $50. Far too low a price, but with their futures hanging in the balance, their options are limited.
When the couple returns with the money, Mason lures them into his truck under the pretense of seeking shelter from the rain. His deception becomes evident immediately; religious imagery sits front and center on his dashboard—ironic, considering his dismissal of the pharmacist’s “religious exemption” earlier in the short—and a song sings about “baby blues” on the radio.
What could have been a saving grace for the couple has revealed itself as a trap. Everything about Mason reads as a threat, down to the way he is filmed. The short’s cinematography repeatedly frames his menacing eyes as they pierce Jo through the rearview mirror, making it abundantly clear she has nowhere to hide. He has eyes everywhere and is in complete control of this space.
Mason tells Arash, “I also had an Asian girlfriend in high school. She actually looked a lot like her,” proceeding to hold up a photo of the girl in front of Jo, who, unsurprisingly, looks nothing like her. On top of his already sinister exploitation of the couple, Mason has also revealed himself to be as bigoted as everyone else in the town, if not more so, considering the false sense of security he lured the two in with.
The isolation Jo and Arash experience on their journey is not solely because of the controversy surrounding contraceptives. The two are also an interracial couple of color living in rural America. Had the short instead featured a white couple seeking the pills, it would be difficult to imagine their journey being remotely as harrowing. The town’s palpable bigotry seems to be enabled by the people who live in it, and the repercussions for these transgressions are minimal. This is reflective of contemporary society, where these behaviors are encouraged in multiple places across the nation.
As Mason’s behavior escalates, his cruel intentions become undeniable. He locks the doors and tells Arash, “Come on, dude. Kiss her neck. Like you mean it.” The teenagers are entirely at this grown man’s disposal, trapped in his truck, and unaware of his intentions. The sequence of events is difficult to watch, especially considering they never would have been in this position had their futures—which were so exciting just a day before—not been jeopardized by outside forces far beyond their control.
What began with the overturning of Roe v. Wade has expanded to encroach on all forms of bodily autonomy for women across the nation. Already-erased constitutional rights are now pushed even further by limiting access to contraceptives, which are capable of changing the entire trajectory of a woman’s life. Jo’s story could be one of almost any teenage girl in America today, as birth control is continuously tampered with and becomes less accessible by the day. The horrors of back-alley abortions and life-threatening procedures are not of the past, but are resurging as the country regresses.
Jo and Arash, thankfully, escape the truck with the pills and without physical harm. The psychological turmoil, however, will have long-lasting effects—especially for Arash, who emerges as a shell of his former self. Rao emphasizes the importance of representing his journey too, saying, “it’s so crucial for us to see his experience as well… he is a witness to the system of values and lack of choice that’s imposed on us. It affects him.” The deep-seated hatred the two faced was more than enough to strip them of their innocence. The irony is not lost, considering small-town America’s preachings of “love thy neighbor” come with conditions, where whiteness and patriarchal culture command all.
While Jo avoids an unwanted pregnancy, the events of the short will permanently alter how both teens move through the world—especially within predominantly white, conservative spaces like the one featured here. Bigotry continues to spread across the nation like a poison wildfire, with hateful ideology becoming normalized under the current administration. The Truck places a finger firmly on the pulse of the United States today, producing an important, deeply poignant final result that is sure to stick with audiences.