Confined to a secluded rest home and trapped within his stroke-ridden body, a former Judge must stop an elderly psychopath who employs a child’s puppet to abuse the home’s residents with deadly consequences.
Chuck says:
I’m always impressed with actors who give 110% to a film they know is beneath them. It’s great fun watching talented thespians giving their all to make a sow’s ear script into something watchable. Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee’s deadly serious turns got me through numerous Hammer Horror films while Donald Pleasance’s committed performances in the myriad “Halloween” sequels he appeared in are the only reason to sit through those guilty pleasures.
And the work of Geoffrey Rush and John Lithgow is the only thing that got me to the end of the seemingly interminable “The Rule of Jenny Pen.” Spinning its wheels during a second act that had me experiencing flashbacks of another ordeal that seemed as if it would never end – that would be my experience driving across Nebraska during June 1995 in a car with no air conditioning – the film would have played much better as a 45-minute “Twilight Zone” episode. As it is, the movie is of the most frustrating sort, one in which glimpses of greatness are seen only to be thwarted by its tepid pacing.
Stefan Mortensen (Rush) is a blunt, no-nonsense judge in the New Zealand court system, who suffers a debilitating stroke while on the bench. With no family, he’s sent to the Royal Pine Mews Home for physical rehabilitation, a stay he hopes will be short. Trying to get the lay of the land, Mortensen notices Dave Crealy (Lithgow), a quietly menacing individual who sits quietly in a corner, conversing with a hand puppet he’s dubbed “Jenny Pen.”
However, as Mortensen’s stay continues, he notices Crealy’s behavior becoming more aggressive. A former employee at the home, he has the run of the place, allowing him to carry out a campaign of terror and abuse on the residents. Too embarrassed or afraid to report these actions, he acts with impunity, his actions becoming more violent and heinous. Unfortunately, when Mortensen does report him, he’s not believed as his prickly nature has alienated him from the staff.
A game of cat-and-mouse between the two principals ensues but fizzles out before it’s fully developed. A switcheroo Mortensen pulls on his nemesis is inspired, while the payback that ensues reveals the depths of Crealy’s depravity.
Unfortunately, this dynamic is abandoned for a series of scenes in which Crealy abuses various residents. Again, and again and again we are subjected to his psychotic behavior, beginning with disrupting a formal dance, escalating to sexual assault. The acts he commits in the interval go from inspired to mundane, their repetition grinding things to a halt, boredom setting in rather than tension building.
To their credit, Rush and Lithgow never phone it in, the two pros so committed throughout, you’d think they are going toe-to-toe in “Othello.” Their disparate approaches to their respective roles complement each other, Rush bringing a poignancy to a proud man whose outward reserve ultimately crumbles in what becomes a quest for survival. As for Lithgow, he’s having the time of his life, maniacally cackling and leering menacingly, bringing a sense of malevolence to simple pieces of dialogue.
One of the biggest mistakes many horror films make is not providing a motivation for their villain’s behavior. Osgood Perkin’s overrated “Longlegs” makes this error as does director and co-writer James Ashcroft here. Hints of Crealy’s past are provided but no explanation is given as to why he’s become the abuser he is. These details are necessary in telling an engaging story; leaving them out is a mistake that, in the end, hobbles “Pen.”
2 Stars
