The Rule of Jenny Pen Review: Elder Abuse Horror

Geoffrey Rush and John Lithgow are terrific in The Rule of Jenny Pen, James Ashcroft’s playful and intelligent tale of abuse and deceit.

Such castings are also recognition that these scripts offer some of the most upfront thematic tests to actor and audience alike. In The Rule of Jenny Pen, two garlanded old hands jump into an existential nightmare with effectively creepy and oddly moving results. Kiwi writer-director James Ashcroft feels no need to move the story from his and source author Owen Marshall’s homeland, bringing some of Australia and the U.S.’ elder statesmen along to his vision. 

Geoffrey Rush plays Stefan Mortensen, a respected but embittered judge. Despite years of trying miserable cases, his sense of duty sees him presiding over court right up to the moment a stroke fells him in the middle of a sentencing. Hurriedly hospitalized and transferred to a retirement home, the aloof judge must contend with weakened right limbs and a lack of stimulation, but nothing can prepare him for the resident who lives just down the corridor. This creepy setup allows Ashcroft to indulge any number of influences. Put The Shining, Dead of Night and What Ever Happened to Baby Jane in a blender, and it might look like The Rule of Jenny Pen.

Adapted from a short story by Owen Marshall, The Rule of Jenny Pen is an ambitious work, brimming with tension and topicality. The story and the resulting film are tales of abuse of all kinds. Mortensen begins being subjected to the bullying ways of fellow retiree Dave Crealy (John Lithgow). Crealy’s nocturnal antics range from tampering with portable urinals to manipulating the more doddery residents of the home. All the while he teases his victims with his hand puppet Jenny Pen, a plastic doll resembling a child’s plaything. Mortensen is just the latest victim of Crealy’s bullying ways, with he and fellow resident Tony (George Henare) bearing the brunt of his nightly visits. Lithgow cackles his way through his performance with glee, gnashing on the Kiwi accent while his eyes bug out in anticipation of the mischief he’s plotting. 

It’s a credit to Ashcroft that he leans into the ambiguity of this scenario. In his and co-writer Eli Kent’s script, there is a suggestion that at least some of Crealy’s abuse is in the judge’s head, which keeps the audience guessing for as long as possible. Horrifying as a tale of elder abuse can be, The Rule of Jenny Pen hints at relevance beyond the retirement home. Mortensen’s condition lends to the possibility of him being gaslit by his tormentor, but the home management refuses to believe Lithgow’s sly old boy could possibly pose any harm. It’s no coincidence that the film opens with Mortensen sentencing a convicted child abuser; The Rule of Jenny Pen underlines our fears that our systems of justice can fail us when we need them most. Vital as care home facilities are, the fears of potential mistreatment within them are vividly realised. If the care staff refuse to listen to you, there’s nowhere else to turn, and such isolation is truly terrifying.

The Rule of Jenny Pen is a tale of misanthropy, and how we can allow it to consume us. Granted, we can and do allow the elderly a measure of regret, but Ashcroft instills in his characters a great deal of resourcefulness and steadfastness. Mortensen starts his new life in the home being bitter and resentful, having been ground down by the criminality he dealt with daily, but he uses that same anger to drive him into action as Crealy’s behaviour becomes more intimidating and dangerous. Rush is magnificent, and is key to the success of The Rule of Jenny Pen. He commits to the physical limitations of his character’s affliction, while never allowing him to become pathetic or helpless. The possibility of these two men bringing each other down is the driving force of Ashcroft’s film, and he reinforces it with playful but intentional camera focus, sound design and needledrops. ‘Knees Up Mother Brown’ has never sounded so menacing.

The Rule of Jenny Pen keeps you guessing for most of its runtime, though its capacity for ambiguity bleeds out before the end, resulting in an overly tidy conclusion. A tighter edit might have helped, but Ashcroft’s camera is rapt to the marvellously expressive and empathetic faces before it. Don’t go into Jenny Pen expecting jolts of fear; its horror is existential. Getting old is a frightening prospect for many people, and this little gem shows those frights come in many forms.

The Rule of Jenny Pen will be released in US theatres on March 7, 2025 and in UK & Irish cinemas on March 14.