“The End of Oak Street” belongs to the genre I call the last-gasp-of-summer movie. A movie in this category has several characteristics, starting with the fact that it has to be released in the middle of August or later. Beyond that, a last-gasp-of-summer movie is trashy and obvious, it’s usually ripped off from other movies, and it wears a shameless grin on its face about all of that. At the same time, it demands a certain size and scale — a straggling pretense of popcorn lavishness that marks it as a genuine final entry in the blockbuster season. (If it’s any smaller, you know that the summer is already over.)
In “The End of Oak Street,” a tranquil middle-class neighborhood gets attacked by dinosaurs, so it wouldn’t be inaccurate to call the film “Jurassic World: Suburban Apocalypse.” There have been seven “Jurassic” movies, but to some of us it feels like there have been 27, and “The End of Oak Street” might as well be the 28th. The film has nothing whatsoever to do with that fabled franchise, but rarely have I encountered such a blatant piece of corporate cinematic piggybacking. Part of the joke is that the filmmakers are brazenly aware that today’s audiences couldn’t care less whether “The End of Oak Street” is an official “Jurassic” movie or not. The film seems to be saying: I’m a relentless, over-the-top junk dinosaur thriller. What more do you want?
