The Rule of Jenny Pen

I can't begin to tell you how glad I am that this showed up at the local Regal. I figured I was going to have to wait and rent it. That being said, after you leave the moviehouse and think about what you just watched, you're going to be immediately fucked up. It's been a minute since I watched something that really is equal parts, depressing, vile, sinister and diabolically funny all at the same time. Thankfully, James Ashcroft is able to get two legends together in Geoffrey Rush and John Lithgow. The result is an early horror favorite of the year.

I can't begin to tell you how glad I am that this showed up at the local Regal. I figured I was going to have to wait and rent it. That being said, after you leave the moviehouse and think about what you just watched, you're going to be immediately messed up. It's been a minute since I watched something that really is equal parts, depressing, vile, sinister and diabolically funny all at the same time. Thankfully, James Ashcroft is able to get two legends together in Geoffrey Rush and John Lithgow giving their all. The result is an early horror favorite of the year.

Fewer moviegoing experiences are more frustrating than watching a film in which the creators have no clear vision for what they’re trying to say. Regrettably, such is the case with this second feature offering from writer-director James Ashcroft. When a revered judge (Geoffrey Rush) suffers a stroke, he’s moved to what has to be the most ineptly run convalescent home in New Zealand to undergo rehabilitation. While there, however, he – like many of the facility’s other residents – becomes the target of taunting and abuse by another patient (John Lithgow), a manic dementia case who menaces them with a macabre hand-held puppet he calls Jenny Pen, the one who he contends rules over everyone housed at the home. When the judge protests, though, he’s summarily ignored and called delusional by the utterly clueless staff, an aspect of the narrative that’s wholly implausible and undermines the credibility of whatever the story is supposed to represent. That’s made worse by a meandering story that seems to vacillate between presenting a straightforward tale of elder abuse and floating the possibility that the judge may indeed be suffering from his own internal delusions now that he’s trapped in his own stroke-afflicted body. That kind of purposeful ambiguity might have worked better if it had been employed more skillfully, but, as it stands, that uncertainty is never properly developed. And, as the film plays out, it grows progressively more unbelievable and disjointed, leaving viewers wondering what’s truly supposed to be going on. What’s more, this offering is laughingly billed as a horror flick, but there’s virtually nothing the least bit scary about it; it instead languishes in the realm of a modest (though largely unfocused and unengaging) psychological thriller. To its credit, the film incorporates some searing comic relief in the form of witty, pointed one-liners (mostly delivered by Rush), and the two leads struggle mightily to elevate this cinematic mess into something more respectable. But even their considerable talents – no doubt a casting choice aimed at providing a touch of class to a production unworthy of it – are not enough to salvage this woefully undercooked project. Please, do yourself a favor and don’t waste your time or money on this one.