The End of Oak Street (David Robert Mitchell, 2026)
I'd dnf-ed Mitchell's second — 'Under the Silver Lake' — the first time, only to become a fan on my second watch. So going into this I was expecting something far more conspiratorial, so much so that I might've spent the first half of this inured by the horror, looking for clues as to the why or how of it all. But the gruesome twist half-way in helped me unclench and enjoy this for what it was.
I've been stewing in this for a while and I believe there is far more to this than the revived spielberg-summer-shlock this appears to be. (Although, for the record, this is the better spielberg movie of the season.)
Mitchell's a cynic and underneath its Amblin overalls, Oak Street evinces a bitter view of America, or more specifically, American suburbs. That if when shit does hit the fan, it has, is and will always be every man for himself. This is largely Spielberg's view too, that even as we face existential threat as a species, we do so alone, in search of our own answers. Where Spielberg differs (and what makes his work a more palatable family watch) is that those answers might transcend the specific and compel us to search our hearts for common ground. All it takes is one tiny act of kindness or a conscionable hero.
(spoilers) Mitchell's not having any of it and he disabuses Spielberg of these fancies. All of Mitchell's world's a ruse and the people in it are, at best, bait. Those who profess any agency will always default to the path of least resistance, more convenience. This is best evinced by Hathaway's character who, despite admitting to her ambitions beyond her role as almost-stepford-wife finally choses to stay, in town, in the marriage, trading what might've been a life of artistic pursuit for small-town-celebrity authoring inoffensive picture books. The twist at half time, then, isn't just a shock for what it means to the conventions of the plot, but what effect it has on our lead. That given a shot at escape we might instead choose to recreate our prison. And what better prison than the suburb, with neighbours hand-picked.
If this story were a book, I'd imagine this a prop or fable in Under the Silver Lake. But unlike Silver lake, Oak Street may not wear a screed on its sleeve yet it is just as caustic.