In 2009, amid the messy breakdown of my parents’ marriage, my father took me to the cinema to see The Land of the Lost, a time travelling dinosaur epic, starring Anna Friel and Will Ferrell. For almost two hours, my father and I sat silently in that dark room, our fingers still greasy from the KFC we had devoured before the film. Selfishly, I was thankful for the chance to sit alongside him without the need for conversation. I never really knew what to say to him, about anything, never mind the trauma that was developing between him and my mother. What I had not anticipated – and I imagine neither did he – was that, perhaps for the first time in months, my father and I had a good time together.
I could say a number of things about this, all alluding to some fabled power of the film to mend relationship rifts and speak to something much deeper about the human condition, but I was ten in 2009, and cared little about what The Land of the Lost was doing for my father and I’s characters – and still don’t. If there was ever a movie that would have solved the enigma of my parents’ messy relationship, and the distance between my father and I, I highly doubt it would have been The Land of the Lost. Perhaps things may have been different for us had he taken me to see the film adaptation of Cormac McCarthy’s The Road, which was also released that year. Alas, what I cared about most then at ten, as I do now at twenty-six, was rather the immaculate and unmistakable power of the cinema to bring me joy.
It was this joy that I felt watching David Robert Mitchell’s The End of Oak Street (2026). With a plot not so dissimilar to The Land of the Lost, Mitchell’s film sees the Platt family, helmed by Anne Hathaway and Ewan McGregor, as their peaceful suburb is one evening transplanted into the Late Cretaceous, and the Platts are forced to survive against a number of curious, and hungry, dinosaurs.
This is a film choking with things to adore. From Anne Hathaway’s expertly layered and nuanced portrayal of a wife and mother desperate for a change in circumstances, to the thrilling action, fueled by a plethora of visually dazzling and technically fascinating creatures from the Mesozoic period. At the outset, the premise alone gives this tale fiercely strong bones, but it’s in its performances and its direction that allows the film to go for gold. There is one particular moment, in the midst of a violent chase scene, that Hathaway’s performance practically stole the breath from my lungs. It would be asinine to argue that this was her best work, but the merit that she adds to this film is invaluable.
There are, of course, matters that compound the film’s lustre. Namely, the pacing sags ever so slightly in the second act as the characters struggle to identify and action their priorities, alongside some general script shortcomings. I am, however, hesitant to give credence to most of the film’s issues. Instead, it feels more imperative to me to hail the film as the return of cinema that is just meant to be enjoyed.
As cinephiles, it is easy to become trapped by the critical and analytical eye. It would be true to argue that media, at its basest form, is created to be scrutinised – and should be. Films are meaningful and practised pieces of art meant to be engaged with. Artifacts to be lauded when deserving, and damned when necessary. However, in our quest to rate every film we consume on a scale, with comments and critiques to justify our scoring, we lose the inherent joy to be found from that specific formation of pixels on our screens. I recognise the incongruity here, of my making this argument in a film review, but there is credence to be found in this specific irony. We look past our enjoyment for the conjunctions to our feelings. Recently, I had an interesting conversation with a friend who, like me, often goes to the cinema perhaps once a week. We were discussing the rise of a certain type of Letterboxd account, which we could only agree to prescribe as the ‘film bro account’. In defence of this online performance, my friend said that not every film can be five stars, and there has to be a reason for that, hence the uptick in lengthy, critical reviews on the app. This point left somewhat of a bad taste in my mouth. Yes, I agreed. Not every film can be five stars, but all films can just be fun. What happened to fun? I asked my friend, who was doing her best to shrug off my growing annoyance. What happened to films just being enjoyed, without the need to constantly have some strong opinion on it?
I had no idea then, sitting with my friend, that the answer to that question – of what happened to films just being fun – would be answered by David Robert Mitchell, and his film The End of Oak Street. I am happy to look past the film’s flaws to see it for the importance that not only it brought me personally, but also the significance it offers to film in general, especially in the present moment.
This family action adventure hails a welcome, and long overdue, return of films just being fun. I, for one, cannot wait to see it again when it releases.
The End of Oak Street is released in cinemas worldwide August 14th.
