‘The Rule of Jenny Pen’ Review
A bully is still a bully, even if he now resides in a nursing home. That’s about as deep as James Ashcroft’s latest exercise in darkness, The Rule of Jenny Pen, can seem to delve after pontificating for half of the film on more interesting topics of elder abuse and systemic issues that often surface from discussions on long-term care facilities. Catapulted forward by two behemoth performances from its stars, Ashcroft crafts a suffocating atmosphere of hostility that forces its characters and the screenplay away from the rational. By doing so, The Rule of Jenny Pen stumbles through one oppressive sequence to another until believability falls by the wayside and any remaining poignancy is an afterthought struggling to take hold. A psychological horror film that understands how to torment its characters and audience in equal measure, Ashcroft’s film is unfortunately too repetitive and committed to the wrong elements to sustain itself.
After his incredibly bleak directorial debut, Coming Home in the Dark, Ashcroft finds himself treading a familiar tone as a nursing home becomes a nightmare ruled by one of its patients: Dave Crealy (John Lithgow). Moving carefree from patient to patient, Crealy’s eccentric and tyrannical behaviour is underscored by the doll—the titular Jenny Pen—that he keeps on his hand and forces the other residents to kiss in a show of devotion and submission. It’s not until the admission of the stubborn and arrogant Judge Stefan Mortensen (Geoffrey Rush) to the same retirement home, after a near-fatal stroke leaves him partially paralyzed and unable to care for himself, that Crealy and Pen’s rule becomes challenged as two bullies find themselves in each other’s way. Following suit from his last film, The Rule of Jenny Pen finds a place of complacency and dangles the audience above a chaotic situation made worse by an inability to break the routine oppression. It’s a film that revels in the uncomfortable build-up to something more tormenting than the action itself.
Lithgow’s performance as Crealy is the allure here as he runs rampant through a retirement home terrorizing every resident for no discernible reason other than to have some semblance of control. There’s unchecked power at play, and audiences get a brief flash of it from Mortensen in the first scene before it is curbed almost immediately by Crealy’s absolute rule over everyone and physical limitations that make him helpless. The deteriorating state of mind and body is pivotal in Ashcroft and Eli Kent’s screenplay (adapted from an Owen Marshall short story, as was Ashcroft’s previous film). There’s vitality to Crealy that gives him the power that none of the other nursing home residents seem to have. He’s also smart and thinks quick on his feet, keeping him out of trouble by usually playing the victim.
However, unchecked power can only go so far before the film starts to strain itself. A healthy suspension of disbelief is crucial to keeping The Rule of Jenny Pen in perpetual motion and allowing the chaos of Crealy’s punishments to go unimpeded. As Crealy dupes nurses and other staff at every turn and Mortensen’s accusations go ignored, The Rule of Jenny Pen barrels towards an eventual breaking point. A conversation can be had about staffing shortages and the real-life conditions of long-term care facilities, but any interest that Ashcroft’s film has for this seems secondary to creating a suffocating atmosphere of elder abuse and gaslighting. It’s more about seeing how much the film can let Crealy get away with before characters are backed into a corner and must choose between fighting back or submitting to the harassment.
As the film veers closer and closer to more surreal elements and the deterioration of mental faculties becomes far more consequential, The Rule of Jenny Pen loses its importance in exchange for some cheap thrills, pitch black humor, and an uncomfortable ambience. It’s in the performances that the film holds much resonance, with both Rush and Lithgow turning in convincing depictions of different sides of the power struggle. While the movie around them crumbles, they remain locked into some more profound element of their characters that lets them breathe vulnerability into their actions. Lithgow, in particular, has an uphill battle in nuancing a character that is a mystery to everybody around him and does a fantastic job taking what is merely a bully and making him feel like there is some semblance of humanity lurking within.
Unfortunately, The Rule of Jenny Pen’s merits are generally superficial. It’s a satisfying exercise in atmosphere amplified by committed performances from esteemed actors that sacrifices its potential to be stronger thematically for something crueler and less engaging. A repetition sets in that the film never breaks free from. The idea of being surrounded by peers and feeling further isolated in a place that is supposed to help you is compelling enough in theory, but the way Ashcroft and Kent’s screenplay goes about it strains the credibility of its world. While there is always room for a critique of systemic problems with health care and the way we treat others, The Rule of Jenny Pen retains little interest in that line of questioning well before the credits roll. In its place is a repetitive, but marginally effective, psychological horror film that lives and dies by its performances.
