Judge Stefan Mortensen (Geoffrey Rush) is presiding over his latest case and pronouncing both his contempt and a custodial sentence of sixteen years to the paedophile in his dock when his speech falters, he loses focus and then collapses, having suffered a stroke. Next, he’s being wheeled into the Royal Pine Mews Care Home, an establishment which meets Mortenson’s current financial level, the Judge having fallen foul of investments which have failed.
Once there, Stefan’s dream of a single room where he can’t be bothered is immediately shattered as he’s introduced to roommate Tony Garfield (George Henare), an ex-international rugby player. The carers think the two will get on like a house on fire, but Stefan’s view of the world – and those he perceives to be below his level – is such that his experience of those sportsmen has been watching them dodge rape charges.
However, the prospect of an enforced sidekick pales into insignificance as Stefan discovers there’s a genuinely malevolent presence in this seemingly benign environment. Dave Crealy (John Lithgow) may look, and often behave, like a sweet, slightly lost old man who expresses himself through the puppet of a baby doll called Jenny Pen, but he’s very different out of the sight of the carers, roaming the halls in the early hours and alarming the inhabitants, forcing them to pledge allegiance to Jenny Pen in demeaning and disgusting ways. Crealy sees Mortensen as a worthy target and the new addition is next on the list to answer to the question of who rules the roost.
Director James Ashcroft’s debut feature was the jarring, brutal road movie Coming Home In The Dark and, although this follow up isn’t as explicitly violent, The Rule Of Jenny Pen is no less disturbing, playing on our natural fears of getting old and becoming frail, with fewer ways in which to defend ourselves and with fewer people in our corner. The scenes in which our partially paralysed protagonist struggles to complete basic physical tasks and then begins to lose his cognitive abilities would be chilling enough without Lithgow lurking in the shadows, waiting for his moment to pounce.
Early on in the proceedings, Stefan says, “Where there are no lions, hyenas rule,” and this is the case at Royal Pine Mews as Crealy preys on the weak around him, whether it’s helping himself to the soup of a female resident or subjecting Tony to a prolonged, frightening assault in the dead of night. The ex-Judge decides that Crealy must be stopped, but can he deal with a man who has the nursing staff wrapped around his little finger and can’t see that the bloke’s a psychopath?
Ashcroft sets up an interesting clash between the learned Mortensen, who likes to think deeply about life and quote from A Farewell To Arms, and everyman Cleary, who enjoys dancing a frenetic jig while singing Knees Up Mother Brown. At first, Mortensen’s general arrogance and willingness to humiliate Tony doesn’t exactly paint him as the most sympathetic of characters but he soon learns a lesson in finding out exactly who your friends are. The reveal of Cleary as not only a bully but someone potentially capable of murder ups the stakes and makes for a number of tense, sometimes blackly comic, encounters as he vows to break Mortensen and make him bow to Jenny Pen.
The Rule Of Jenny Pen capitalises on its unusual setting and its powerhouse performances, delivering an indie horror which relies on its constant sense of threat plus a handful of harrowing scenes, and one or two moments of absolute madness, to keep the viewer on edge. A sequence in which Lithgow gatecrashes a hitherto gentle spot of community ballroom dancing and transforms it into a senior version of a mosh pit is a demented delight.
It has to be said that some suspension of disbelief is required, certainly when it comes to how certain events could happen in a care home without someone either questioning them or at least having some way of recording them, but the screenplay by Ashcroft and Eli Kent throws its focus on the battle between Mortensen and Cleary and mostly keeps the care home staff in the background, except for a few amusingly accurate asides as they deal with the day to day strangeness of their workplace. Of course, the care home’s manager doesn’t believe a word of the accusations against Cleary.
Geoffrey Rush, in his first acting role since 2019’s Storm Boy, portrays Mortenson as a man naturally prone to seeking justice and standing up to the bullies of society, but whose intolerance of those he sees as cowards and fools almost proves his undoing, his air of superiority clouding the judgements of those around him. It’s a nuanced, complex performance, holding up superbly against the frankly terrifying Lithgow, whose marrow-freezing stare and endlessly cruel streak will have audiences dreading the next time he shows up and then climbing the walls waiting for him to get his comeuppance. There’s one particular scene in which he’s introduced as a silhouette and the feeling that something dreadful is going to happen is palpable.
It’s pleasing to see horror which features older, wiser folks in peril as opposed to yet another round of bright young things being chopped into pieces. The Rule Of Jenny Pen is, like the folks in Royal Pine Mews, steadily paced, but this allows the tension to be cranked up to oppressive levels. The final showdown and its aftermath might trigger thoughts of how that last scene came to be without specific ramifications, but it doesn’t derail what’s gone before. We’re enjoying an era in which accomplished actors are giving great performances in the horror genre without immediately being accused of slumming it and long may that continue. Rush and Lithgow are exceptional in a film which is thoroughly unnerving from start to finish.
The Rule of Jenny Pen (2024) is in select cinemas from 14th March 2025.