The End of Oak Street is an odd hybrid of Spielbergian nostalgia and the dark side of Jurassic Park. As I write this, I’m still surprised it isn’t rated R. In fact, I kind of wish it was more PG like The Goonies, which really should have been PG-13. What I’m trying to say is that I wish it was more cheeky and campy and included lines like: “Brand, God put that rock there for a purpose… and, um… I’m not so sure you should, um… move it…”
God and faith are mentioned briefly in Oak Street, but like all plot line and character development potential, they are breezed by in place of more dinosaur chases and jump scares. Don’t get me wrong: the special effects are spectacular, and the Platt family are pleasant enough to root for. Anne Hathaway is a Hollywood phoenix who shines through some serious emotional curveballs, Ewan McGregor is winningly naive and vulnerable, and the two kids look and act wonderfully 1982—even if the 2001: A Space Odyssey poster on a bedroom wall should’ve been Star Wars. Believe me, I know: we ’80s kids knew Star Wars was life. 2001 was sleep medicine.
In the end, The End of Oak Street comes across as a rule breaker with a tonally bizarre blend of ’80s winks and hairy monster teeth both gratifying and startling. A more jovial Dave Grusin-esque score might have helped balance the mayhem, but jaw-dropping synced perfectly in my theater, especially during two scenes I still can’t believe they got away with. As the credits rolled, our group seemed to reach the same bewildered consensus: “That was fun… but darker than expected.” PG-13, you’ve changed.
The End of Oak Street (2026) ***
Reely Bernie 
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