The Rule of Jenny Pen Review

The only certainty of every living being’s life is that it will end. All we can do is hope to enjoy our final years with dignity, even if the ravages of Father Time require us to take up residence in an assisted living facility. Granted, most people are scared by the prospect of ever ending up in one, given the frequency abuses are reported in such places. But we don’t really have control over that: a freak medical event can rip away our independence at the drop of a hat. James Ashcroft’s sophomore feature The Rule of Jenny Pen makes excellent use of this powerlessness and the melting pot of medical issues in close quarters to craft an unsettlingly realistic circumstance.

From the very first shot, Ashcroft shows little interest in subtlety. A bug crawls around a desk for a moment, before quickly being crushed by the thumb of an unseen man. Cut to a close-up of Stefan Mortensen (Geoffrey Rush), a New Zealand judge. He snaps out of his daze in time to castigate the defendant standing before him for sexual abuse of several minors, dismissing his claims of repentance. When the children’s mother is heard thanking the judge from off-screen, Stefan lays into her for knowingly leaving her children with their abuser. That we’ve heard nothing of the case makes clear Ashcroft’s intent: he’s using it to announce in no uncertain terms that Stefan is a bitter bastard, ready to condescendingly chastise anyone he deems inferior, which softens the tragedy when he experiences a stroke moments later, landing him in a long-term care facility.

While many would be humbled by suddenly needing help to take a shower and relying on a bedside urinal, Stefan sees himself as above his neighbors. He insists he only landed amongst them due to bad investments, and reiterates his disdain for them at every turn by reciting Hemingway and taunting former All Blacks benchwarmer Tony (George Henare). This is not lost on Dave Crealy (John Lithgow), a manipulative and mysterious force of chaos who appears to have been around for decades. Aided by his ever-present baby doll-turned-puppet with hollowed-out eye sockets, the titular Jenny Pen, he torments the other residents, and locks on to Stefan in particular.

What follows is an upsetting tale of a man put through hell by his own arrogance and extreme insolence. Stefan’s unfettered hatred of staff and patients alike results in his isolation, and ensures his claims of abuse at the hands of Dave will be dismissed as delusion and senility. However, Dave’s extensive tenure and gentle treatment by the staff is strange, given the difficulty he presents them on a daily basis. Later revelations imply an additional disturbing reason for their tolerance, and redoubles Stefan’s resolve to get out of there.

However, that’s about the only thing left unsaid. The swirl of themes on which you’ve picked up get clumsily hammered home late in the film by a monologue and flashbacks. If you’ve forgotten the opening scene, the movie grinds to a halt to tell you how all that’s happened since stems from ideas within it: Stefan’s God complex, the denial of the effects of aging, the fear of social repercussions for speaking up about abuse, the futility of being a twat, and more. Most poignant of all is the repetition of his poetic assertion that “Where there are no lions, hyenas rule”, spotlighting Dave’s animalistic behavior and domination of the nursing home. As such expository scenes tend to do, it removes the requirement for you to interpret the filmmaker’s intent, and instead shoves your nose in what Ashcroft wants you to take away from the experience.

The sheer artistry on display earns him partial forgiveness. He and cinematographer Matt Henley work overtime to create a deeply foreboding setting, as well as a few hallucinatory sequences containing imagery that won’t soon leave me. The camerawork and lively editing wonderfully emphasize Stefan’s mental state. The shot selection is often deliberately unnatural, keeping us off balance at the most harrowing moments. Strange behavior is accentuated, sharp colors make everything feel hyperreal, and the score keeps you on edge. You won’t find jump scares here: when the subject matter is so perfectly targeted to worm its way into your psyche, there’s no need.

Unfortunately, through all this, Ashcroft stumbles past the ending. The narrative comes to a satisfying and appropriate conclusion, one that plays nicely into the themes and fears that have been exhibited throughout…before continuing for an additional ten minutes or so, to little effect. If anything, it undermines the previous ninety minutes, tying things up in a nice bow when they were headed for a messy catastrophe. There are some solid moments in this chunk, such as a heartbreaking scene of Tony failing to perform a haka due to his ill health, but we can’t help but wonder why the movie is still going. It ends in a far more definitive place, a decision I simultaneously understand and malign. So much of the story is gloriously uninterested in clarity, making it all the more frustrating that the final chunk reverses course.

The Rule of Jenny Pen ends up an uneven project, one whose atmosphere will undoubtedly stick with you even as its power is dulled by over-explanation. The specter of John Lithgow with messed up teeth sneering “Who rules?” as he forces you to stare down a baby doll with nothing where its eyes should be will haunt your dreams. Still, so much is left on the table, such as Stefan’s occasional loss of time, which is visually outstanding but a dramatic dead end. These issues are the mark of a young filmmaker, brimming with ideas but lacking the confidence to fully bring them to fruition. But with just two movies under his belt and the demonstrated ability to craft memorable sequences, The Rule of Jenny Pen implies Ashcroft has a bright career ahead of him.