The End of Oak Street (2026)

Score: 5 / 5

"Greg, you only go to church at Christmas and now you're telling the kids God's looking out for us?"

Do you remember, back in '80s and '90s blockbuster releases, when you could walk out of a film quoting it at several parts because there were some real zingers? "Snakes. Why'd it have to be snakes?" "I'll have what she's having." "Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die." It was also always about the delivery, and that's something that has gone out of style. Nowadays it would sound cheesy to declare such lines with the same gusto; we've largely moved to a more internalized acting style on screen, with flatter timbre and diminished range of pitch. Just close your eyes and listen to "content creators" online; it's mind-numbing to hear such droning, yet it's affecting all of us and being reflected on the silver screen. Point being: the filmmakers and cast, in this case, knew exactly what kind of film they were making. 

The End of Oak Street throws us back to 1982 in both its setting and its style. Housewife Denise (Anne Hathaway) is secretly writing a novel that seems to verbalize her desire to divorce Greg (Ewan McGregor). Meanwhile, Greg has lost his job and works as a pizza delivery driver to try and make ends meet. Of course this is an absurd premise, but we go along with it (EDIT: I may be mistaken, but I don't think Denise has a job. I'll have to see it again to be sure). Their kids, teens Audrey and Brian (Maisy Stella and Christian Convery), have their own issues that stem directly from their parents' domestic strife: Audrey's a loner and Brian's acting out. Their secrets will all have a reckoning before this drama concludes because, stylistically, these films focus on and usually reinforce the nuclear family, the American dream, and simple morality.

Their neighborhood, in an idyllic Michigan suburb called Flowerdale, is awash in bright amber glow, pulsating with that nostalgic and tactile warmth we recognize from 30+ years ago. This is the kind of dreamlike neighborhood Laurie Strode inhabited in Halloween; that film was shot in California but set in Illinois, and Oak Street was shot in Georgia but set in Michigan. Something about them warmer climes sure does work for a welcoming atmosphere in realizing the world of the film. This is the kind of neighborhood that feels like what we should want. Broad manicured yards with well-maintained fences and community pathways between for the school kids to navigate; clean front porches filled with people, especially during the apparently regular neighborhood block parties; established old trees and gently curving roads; trios of bullies on bikes and teens reading on the roof outside their upstairs window. There's the kindly elderly lady down the street who is Denise's only confidante, the irritable and constantly complaining next door neighbor who threatens the dog, and even the suspiciously tokenized new Black family in the neighborhood, whose daughter will befriend Audrey. Only Audrey, much to Brian's confusion. 

David Robert Mitchell, the Metro Detroit native whose previous films include It Follows and Under the Silver Lake, seems to have quite the bone to pick with these quiet, nice suburbs and their grotesque underbellies. Conspiracies and sex and violence in the geopolitical heart of the American Dream. This time, he compounds his critique not with an embodied moralistic curse or with a trippy odyssey through paranoid possibilities. This time, he... well, in a sense, yes, he does that here, too. But he allows these characters to grow naturally and breathe together. He allows us to get to know and care for them: to see them at ease at dinner, cracking jokes and gossiping about the neighborhood drama. They're so lovely, it hurts extra when the parents start fighting and we're moved to the kids' perspective. These characters aren't communicating healthily, the filmmakers beat us over the head with. This is the dissolution of the family and the neighborhood.

This is also the kind of archetypal nostalgic town that features an omniscient librarian who lives in a beautifully tended, massive green Victorian mansion atop the town's tallest hill. When, researching in the library, Denise fails to identify a mysterious and large new plant in a neighbor's backyard, the librarian instantly recognizes it as an extinct plant from twenty million years ago. And Denise -- and we -- aren't meant to think of that as odd or coincidental or really fucking lucky. We're just supposed to go with it. Because of course our childhood librarian would have been able to instantly identify a prehistoric sapling from a single Polaroid image. 

Oh, right. Did I mention? The twist happens when the family wakes up after a freak storm to discover that carnivorous and predatory dinosaurs are roaming their neighborhood. 

Yeah, this is a horror film, though one determined to make a fairly general audience feel safe and entertained. You might not have guessed it based on my words thus far; that's because the film is really about the family dynamics, and the spectacle is really just a means to enhance and entertain around that drama. Between a few brief moments of awe, this film, much like Jurassic Park, is mostly a strung-together series of increasingly intense set pieces involving the family members fleeing, hiding from, or fighting back against an onslaught of large, reptilian monsters. Actually, much like 65 from a few years ago, this is a rare example of a dinosaur movie for adults that isn't related to the aforementioned franchise. And it's one that, importantly, also makes dinosaurs scary again. These aren't familiar beasts like the T-rex or velociraptors of Isla Nobler; these are freakish, feathered horrors hell-bent on chasing their terrified prey and feasting in the middle of paved roads and mulched flower beds.

The extent to which we want to add meaning to this film will vary on your context. I could not help focusing on some of the surprisingly thoughtful dialogue about philosophy and religion (as you may have guessed from my opening quote), and so I found myself wondering about the Garden of Eden, monstrous reptiles, angelic portals, a devastating fire, two kinds of pristine paradises smashed together, and the characters' forbidden fruits. Most of the film's plot -- from violent episode to intense emotional conversation to violent episode -- feels structured in a predictable, comfortable manner. This fits with the characters' actions, as they repeatedly attempt to batten down their hatches and make themselves more safe by hiding inside, pretending things are normal as they listen to music or drink the last of the milk while they hear neighbors screaming and being eaten just outside. What does it take for sleepy, comfortable American suburbanites to wake up and get to work? To go outside and help the people who need it? Ah, but it's so much easier to convince yourself things outside aren't as bad as they seem; that the media is lying to us so why should we bother to investigate; that personal security is even possible when the world is burning around us.

The horror of the film stems from attempts by the characters to normalize what is, functionally, irrational and actively harmful. A shotgun blast often isn't enough for these monsters. If you think you're safe on the roof, wait till the pterosaurs swoop in. While scouting, the parents come across a mating pair of giant, hairy long-necked herbivores. And when you think you've seen it all, an enormous albino snake slithers all through the house in eerie silence until someone finally notices it and saves its intended prey. And don't get me started on the wormholes. These aren't reasonable things, which makes it all the more anxiety-inducing for us watching when the family starts tearing off cabinet doors to haphazardly board up their windows. Do you really think two two-by-fours and a couple nails will stop a triceratops from smashing through your bay window?

Regardless, what's amazing about this film is how much it packs into a speedy, exciting, and consistently entertaining ninety-something minutes. Plenty of suspense and action for the fans of classics, gore for the horror fiends, inspiring romance for both parents and kids, a feel-good sense of community (and, perhaps, some subversive critiquing for the debaters), a gorgeous and rousing score by Michael Giacchino that felt inspired by John Williams. I hummed theme music as I left the cinema, and immediately started quoting it. At one point, Hathaway tearfully admits that she's "just trying to figure out the least scary way to handle this," which will haunt me for a while yet. These aren't heroic characters in an epic struggle against a dangerous new world. This is the story of a family dissolving and suddenly being forced to choose to help each other try to survive at least a little longer as they come to terms with their own bleak doom.

Easily the surprise of the year, The End of Oak Street is already a forever favorite of mine. It's the kind of rare art that feels tailor-made for me. If Stephen King wrote a Steven Spielberg film inspired by Jumanji and the end of The Lost World: Jurassic Park, this would be it. And I couldn't be happier with it.