Sean Parker
John Lithgow is an American treasure, and if you disagree, we can never be friends. I grew up watching him as the loveable yet oafish head of an alien family on 3rd Rock From the Sun after countless rewatches of Harry and the Hendersons with my family. Back then, I would never have considered a malevolent side to the actor, except maybe when he yells at the sasquatch at the end of the movie to protect him. Then I saw Brian DePalma’s Raising Cain, and soon after, he’d transform into The Trinity Killer in Dexter’s best season. Not only was there a dark side to Lithgow, but he was unbelievably good at shedding the every-dad persona and crafting a character so immeasurably vile you loved to hate him. This week, horror fans should prepare to love hating him again in The Rule of Jenny Pen.
If you’re like me, then you’ve awaited the release of The Rule of Jenny Pen with much anticipation. Director James Ashcroft’s brutal abduction thriller Coming Home in the Dark was my favorite horror film of 2021, and it’s been a long four years awaiting the director’s latest film. The dark themes and complex characters Ashcroft and his writing team of Eli Kent and Owen Marshall explored in the movie gave way to barbaric violence and bleak resolve. Coming Home in the Dark is a modern masterpiece of cyclical violence that I implore any genre lover to see, and The Rule of Jenny Pen is nearly just as brilliant.
The ever-incredible Geoffrey Rush delivers a stirring performance as a Judge recently admitted into such a facility after suffering a stroke on the bench. At the rest home, he encounters an abusive resident who sneaks into the other tenants’ rooms and preys on their inability to physically retaliate or convince the staff such a thing even happened. Lithgow delivers an explosive performance, setting up a retaliatory cat-and-mouse game for him and Rush to exchange organized blows. But there’s even more setup as Rush’s Stefan Mortenson finds delivering justice is hard when his acuity starts to dissolve, further complicating his believability with the staff.
Ashcroft, Kent, and Marshall take the idea of a schoolyard bully and place it into an equally vulnerable situation. Lithgow’s Dave Crealy may have the staff fooled, appearing mentally unwell, but by remaining compliant, he’s gone a step further, getting the staff to believe he may be a little senile but not a troublemaker. This flips the narrative on Stefan’s claims against Crealy as the staff begins to consider Stefan as an agitator while Crealy continues to direct their ire his way. Crealy tells Stefan that the only way to make it stop is to submit to The Rule of Jenny Pen – an eyeless plastic doll that Crealy wears on his arm.
I’m a bit reluctant whenever a horror film takes place in a nursing home. As far as settings go, they’re unsettling at the very least. But horror films that often explore our fears in these places tend to tread similar ground in thematic material such as the elderly, death, and clinical establishments. The 2021 Barbara Hershey-led film The Manor is the perfect example. With a wild plot about an embedded coven sucking the life out of the residents, the film never cements the fear of getting older. In fact, many horror films in this subgenre (The Visit, Bubba Ho-Tep) manage to subvert expectations but rarely dredge up the existential crisis of fragility to the point we’re uncomfortably forced to wallow in the dread of what’s waiting for all of us on the horizon.
The Rule of Jenny Pen does not have this issue. Through Rush’s Stefan, we witness a disturbing situation that proposes how easy it is for older people to lose their autonomy and watch as he’s relentlessly reminded of that through Crealy’s nightly visits. It’s a daunting thought for the aging horror viewer.
Moreover, I find a bit of Stefan and Crealy’s relationship to be far more dynamic. I’d liken it to an internet theory regarding Batman and the Joker. There was a fantastic idea circling some years ago suggesting Batman was a patient at Arkham, and many of his comic book enemies were attributes designated to the other patients and nursing staff. While the scenery isn’t exactly Arkham, many of the same ideas about reality and mental health still exist.
In The Rule of Jenny Pen, Stefan is a judge who’s used to doling out his brand of justice. He’s honored, revered, respected (and perhaps feared) outside the walls of the retirement center, making him the perfect target for a villain like Crealy to assert certain Joker-like qualities. Though he waits for Stefan to surrender to him, he’s enjoying the contest between the two. While it’s never not playtime for Crealy, Stefan begins to learn the rules of Crealy’s game, slowly developing the insight to defeat him despite his own failing health.
Ashcroft is methodical with The Rule of Jenny Pen, crafting a precise, unnerving portrait of old age in a way very few have done effectively. While I contend that the film runs a bit on the lengthy side, it’s hard to pinpoint what deserves to be cut. Rush and Lithgow are superb adversaries, and every scene informs the next right up to the finale.
The Rule of Jenny Pen unequivocally aims at the political spectrum of power, boasting how to manipulate the established inner workings of old systems while retaining a likable outward appearance. The fact that this is all subtextual becomes thoughtfully provocative as there’s much to consider here, from the complex role the Biden-Trump rivalry plays in this tale of elderly regimes to the simplicity of waged wars and authoritarian rule in places that aren’t as visible to the public. Some fights for freedom go unseen and unheard.
The Rule of Jenny Pen is now playing in theaters.
