Faraway Tree provides a magical escape, Oak Street is a half-baked dino film

Tree casts a delightful spell

A fantasy for both children and adults, Ben Gregor’s The Magic Faraway Tree finds the perfect balance of whimsy and post-modernism to make it work for both groups. Based on the novels by Enid Blyton, the film leisurely casts its spell, its story unfolding effortlessly between an idyllic rural landscape and a fantasy world in the sky that, much to this viewer’s amusement, constantly changes to offer one surprising humorous moment after another. An additional delight is that the three young characters all prove to be likeable and sympathetic, not a forced moment delivered by the movie’s trio of young actors.

The statement, “The magic of childhood is often forgot but this is the story of one who did not,” is splashed across the screen to start the movie, a reference to Tim (Andrew Garfield), the patriarch of the Thompson family. An eternal optimist, he’s charged with holding down the homestead while his wife, Polly (Claire Foy) pursues her career as an appliance designer. This is not how she intended to use her engineering degree, yet when she loses her job, it still stings. It also has broad ramifications as the family will now lose the flat and car the company was providing her.

Despite these seeming dire circumstance, Tim remains optimistic they’ll land on their feet. For inspiration, he pulls out a book of dreams he and Polly wrote years before and immediately finds one he’s been hoping would come true. So, much to the chagrin of Beth (Delilah Bennett-Cardy), the clan’s petulant teenager, Joe (Phoenix Laroche), the family’s wi-fi dependent gamer, and Fran (Billie Gadsdon), their perpetual dreamer, the Thompsons set out to transform a run-down barn into a country home. The plan is Tim will grow tomatoes, use them to produce his unique pasta sauce with success and prosperity soon to follow. A sure-fire plan if there ever was one.

Needless to say, the kids aren’t happy, with Beth’s continued exasperation and Joe’s dismal sense of resignation played up for effective laughs. This, and the comic tension between the parents, who are always putting a positive spin on things, while the kids only see doom and gloom, makes for a solid first act.

That the film doesn’t jump the rails when pixies and other imaginary creatures are introduced is a minor miracle. Fran is invited to a tea party by Silky (Nicola Coughlan), a fairy she unwittingly does a good turn for. Taking place in the branches of a massive tree, she finds herself breaking biscuits with Moonface (Nonso Anozie), a giant with a face like a moon; Saucepan Man (Dustin Demri-Burns), a man who wears pots and pans for clothes; Mr. Watzisname (Oliver Chris) a prince who, you guessed it, can’t remember his name; and Dame Washalot (Jessica Gunning), a woman who is perpetually doing laundry.

Not only is she a wizard at getting out stains but she minds the stairway to alternate worlds that exist above the clouds, a new one looming overhead each day. There’s the Land of Goodies, where you can eat all the sweets you want, the Land of Birthdays, where your birthday wishes come true, the Land of Know-Alls, where any question you have can be answered and the Land of Dame Snap, where a wicked school mistress (Rebecca Fergueson) is intent on sucking the fun out of everything.

These various locations are rendered in a way that highlights their artificial nature, underscoring that they could not exist without Beth, Joe and Fran believing in them. Their bright hues, grand size and whimsical characters are all products of their collective imaginations, realms in which they feel either comfortable and safe or are given the opportunity to realize they can solve and overcome seemingly dire circumstances. It is through their experiences there and their interactions with their fantastical friends that they learn how to deal with and see their new lives in a positive light.

For adult viewers, the vision of being able to survive and thrive outside the modern rat race is the appeal. The Thompsons slowly transform their rundown barn into an idyllic refuge, a home full of warmth and love, all sustained by the crops they grow and the sauce that’s sold. It’s unfortunate such a dream cannot be conjured by force of will and imagination alone.

Like the best fantasy films, Tree provides us not only with a wonderful respite from the real world but also a renewed perspective as to how to deal with it. While hanging on to a piece of your childhood and applying the sense of hope found there is easier said than done, at times, attempting to do so can provide a bit of unexpected magic. In Theaters.

Miasma an intriguing deconstruction

Like 10 pounds of potatoes stuffed into a five-pound bag, Jane Schoenbrun’s Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma is bursting with myriad themes, commentary and axes to grind. There are more than enough topics and motifs to be covered in three movies, and while all aren’t explored fully, you have to admire the writer/director’s enthusiasm for her subject. Key to the film’s success is the sense of fun generated throughout this meta-meta exercise, effectively buoyed by Gillian Anderson’s knowing performance as an actress whose on-screen persona has affected her personal life in tragic and comic ways.

Assigned with the seemingly unenviable task of rebooting an exhausted horror film franchise, writer/director Kris (Hannah Einbinder) is eager to take it on. Far too young when she saw the first Camp Miasma film, the young woman has been confusing sex with murder for some time. It’s no wonder, as the series’ villain, Little Death (Jack Haven), kills his sexually-active victims when they’re in the act of climaxing. That Kris has been unable to consummate any of her relationships comes as no surprise. Her interest in making yet another “Miasma” movie hinges on her desire to unravel this psychological conundrum and meet Billy (Anderson), the actress from the first film she’s been vicariously connected to since seeing her on screen.

Anderson, armed with a seductive southern accent and the bearing of an exiled royal, is obviously having a good time channeling Gloria Swanson. Living in seclusion on the set of the first “Miasma” movie, Billy is obviously modeled after Norma Desmond, her life frozen in time as she’s abandoned the real world, having given herself over to the movie environment where she found a fleeting bit of success.

Obvious allusions to the Friday the 13th franchise as well as numerous other horror films are bandied about, while a variety of genre tropes are put under the microscope. More importantly, Schoenbrun addresses the knotted connection between sex and violence that has always been part-and-parcel of the horror film. The connection between these two acts became even more complex with the explicit nature of their convergence with every post-Psycho feature. The alternate meaning to Little Death’s name is telling as is the way in which Schoenbrun recreates the killings in the “Miasma” movies. The male gaze, which young Kris falls victim to while watching the franchise entries, is upended while issues of gender representations in the genre are examined as well. That some are delved into more than others is no surprise as these complex issues yield a variety of responses related to various other concerns that would prompt further discussion.

Also telling is the movie’s evolving visual aesthetic. Kris’ journey to Camp Miasma seems to begin in the real world but the longer she resides there, the more we see it through her eyes. As the film progresses, it becomes more stylized, the artifice of a film set not hidden but exaggerated. The character’s inability to move past the trauma of seeing the “Miasma” movie has consumed her and we become immeshed in the trap as well. Soon, garishly colored buildings, painted backgrounds and artificial building fronts fill the frame, Kris’ “world view” stemming from the movie environment she can’t move past.

While this may sound like heavy lifting, the film is actually a delight, Schoenbrun deftly weaving a tongue-in-cheek irony into her serious deconstructive approach. While knowledge of horror movies, slasher flicks particularly, is beneficial to all the director is addressing, it’s not vital where understanding Kris’ journey is concerned. If nothing else, there are the performances to enjoy, Einbinder’s over-earnest take clashing comically with Anderson’s camp turn. Whenever the film begins to bog down, this dynamic pair saves it.

The question becomes whether or not Kris will opt to stay in Billy’s limited but somewhat safe world or if she’ll be able to pull her idol from her self-imposed exile. Miasma speaks to the seductive and overwhelming power of the cinema, as well as the damage it can impose, the advice in Schoenbrun’s cautionary tale easier and more enjoyable to ignore than embrace. In Theaters.

Oak a ho-hum dino adventure

With no Jurassic Park sequel in theaters the summer, David Robert Mitchell’s The End of Oak Street attempts to scratch the itch anyone jonesing for dinosaur mayhem may have. Working on a smaller scale, one can’t expect the writer/director to produce the sort of full-scale destruction and variety of creatures the Jurassic films provide. However, this isn’t what relegates Oak to the bin of lackluster entertainments. Its simplistic, repetitive script, inane dialogue and frustrating character behavior accomplishes that.

On the surface, the Platts seem to be a typical, happy, suburban American family. But there’d be little in the way of dramatic tension if that were the case. And while they don’t live in River City, they’ve got troubles aplenty and soon they are revealed.

The patriarch of the clan, Greg (Ewan McGregor), hasn’t told anyone he’s lost his job and insists that he’s delivering pizzas just to have a little extra cash. It’s also hinted he’s a recovering alcoholic. His wife, Denise (Anne Hathaway) has secretly been writing a novel through which she’s been channeling her own unhappiness. That the heroine in her book longs to leave her husband is telling. Audrey (Maisy Stella), their brilliant daughter, hopes to go to Cornell to study astronomy but knows her family can’t afford it. She puts on a brave face, saying any other college would suit her just fine. Her younger brother, Brian, (Christian Convery), is a bundle of insecurities, who longs to talk to the new girl who moved in down the street. That the older sibling of one of his friends, whose arm he broke, is on the lookout for him preys on his mind.

Obviously, these four have a lot on their collective minds so the sudden appearance of predatory dinosaurs on their front lawn only exacerbates their woes. Mitchell doesn’t go out of his way to explain the whys and wherefores of how this happens – not that it matters – but does provide a blinding white light in the night before the Platts’ friends and neighbors are served up as a hot lunch the next day as a possible cause.

Hiding out in their house doesn’t lend itself to much action, so soon the family is looking to escape. Unfortunately, they find their neighborhood has been cut off from the rest of the world, prehistoric fauna rapidly growing at its edges to contain them. Now exposed, they have to outrun and evade these ancient apex predators, which surprisingly becomes a bit of a bore. The lesser entries in the Jurassic series have fallen victim to this as well. Apparently, there are only so many ways you can stage a dinosaur attacking a human before it becomes ho-hum. None of these scenes more the story along, existing to generate thrills that never come, the film relying on incident rather than narrative development. The result is a moribund movie

Equally annoying is the lazy-dialogue and inane actions of some of the characters. Repeatedly, statements are made that point out the obvious, some so egregious they illicit unintentional laughter. The veteran cast does what they can with inconsistent results. And while I don’t expect every film character to be a member of Mensa, I do require they have a bit of common sense. This is solely lacking at times, to the point I was hoping some of these dullards would get munched up real good. As a result, Oak comes off as a simplistic, half-developed production that was in dire need of an imaginative writer capable of creating three-dimensional characters and intriguing action set pieces. Yes, such scribes might be rare, but they’re not extinct. In Theaters.

This article appears in August 13-19, 2026.