From What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? to Death Becomes Her, cinema has long relished stories of aging adversaries whose spite turns deadly.  The Rule of Jenny Pen carries on that tradition but with a distinctly Down Under twist.  Australian and New Zealand films have a knack for finding terror in vulnerability—whether it’s the isolation of Wolf Creek’s outback or the claustrophobic dread of Housebound.  Now, director James Ashcroft sets his sights on perhaps our most fragile state: old age.

After a massive stroke, former judge Stefan Mortensen (Geoffrey Rush, The Book Thief) loses not just his authority but his autonomy, condemned to a sterile retirement home where strangers become his new reality.  His roommate Tony (George Henare) offers friendship, but Mortensen—bitter and unaccepting of his decline—rebuffs him.  Yet his pride isn’t the real danger.  That would be Dave Crealy (John Lithgow, Conclave), a resident whose warm, harmless façade hides something far more sinister. 

With his unsettling dementia doll and a twisted game he calls The Rule of Jenny Pen (trust me, you don’t want to know the ins and outs), Crealy has built a quiet reign of terror over the residents—and, though they don’t realize it, the staff as well.  When Mortensen’s warnings fall on deaf ears, he must summon what little strength remains to deliver one final verdict: end Crealy’s rule before he becomes its next victim.

This marks Ashcroft’s second feature after 2021’s nerve-shredding Coming Home in the Dark, another adaptation of Owen Marshall’s fiction.  Ashcroft and co-writer Eli Kent (The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug) have been developing Jenny Pen for over a decade, and that patience shows in its measured, dread-soaked storytelling.  As a former actor and theatre director, Ashcroft has a gift for drawing out nuanced performances, particularly in how he allows Lithgow and Rush to subvert expectations.

Watching these two seasoned actors square off is the film’s greatest pleasure.  Rush, usually typecast as eccentric masterminds or theatrical villains, brings layers to Mortensen—both formidable and pitiful, his stubborn dignity flickering even as his body betrays him.  Meanwhile, Lithgow—who has made a career of playing charming yet menacing figures (Cliffhanger fans, this one’s for you)—turns in a performance as chilling as it is gleeful.  There’s an unnerving theatricality to his Crealy, a reminder of why he’s been creeping audiences out since Blow Out.  Supporting them is what Rush calls in the press notes the “crème de la crème” of New Zealand’s elder acting talent, many playing residents too terrorized to resist Crealy’s puppet-wielding tyranny.

Matt Henley’s cinematography turns the nursing home into a place of quiet menace, framing shots through doorways and curtains to suggest voyeurism and unseen threats.  Special effects artist Chris Lyons deserves credit for Crealy’s grotesque dental prosthetics—a subtle but profoundly unsettling detail.  Meanwhile, Zahra Archer’s production design strikes a balance between institutional sterility and suffocating intimacy, making the home feel as much a prison as a place of care.

Where Jenny Pen stumbles is its length.  The film strains credibility, expecting us to believe that an entire staff remains oblivious to Crealy’s decades-long reign of terror.  Likewise, the residents’ unwavering submission, even in their final years, feels at odds with the film’s grounded performances.  And then there’s the ending—or endings.  The film seems uncertain how to wrap up its nightmare, each potential conclusion out-escalating the last, only to land on one that doesn’t quite satisfy.

Beneath its thriller framework, Jenny Pen raises uncomfortable questions about elder care and abandonment.  As families shrink and lifespans grow, more seniors find themselves in institutions where power imbalances can turn dangerous.  What happens when the protectors become blind to abuse? When the forgotten must fend for themselves? Ashcroft doesn’t flinch from the indignities of aging, and some viewers—even seasoned horror fans—may find the film’s cruelty hard to stomach.

Despite its excesses, The Rule of Jenny Pen mostly delivers on its high-concept premise, even if it doesn’t always know when visiting hours should end.  While its darkest moments border on absurdity, the performances remain mesmerizing.  Rush and Lithgow throw themselves into their roles, with Lithgow once again proving he’s a master of nightmare-inducing antagonists.  The film may stretch belief at times, but as a chilling meditation on power, vulnerability, and the monsters that lurk where we least expect them, it leaves a lasting impression.  Just don’t expect sweet dreams afterward.