There may be a surplus of horror films centered around the fear of malevolent elderly characters, but surprisingly few are about being old. Despite the horror classics that explore mortality, it’s rare that these films are led by characters even slightly above middle-age. While this may be the result of what’s deemed marketable, it’s also evidence in favor of the theory that horror’s a genre defined by younger artists. It was when they were youthful and daring that great directors like John Carpenter, Wes Craven, Peter Jackson, and Sam Raimi did their best work; years of experience only dwindled their ability to shock, and gave them less incentive to take calculated risks. That The Rule of Penny Jen is explicit in its commentary about the indignities suffered by the elderly is bold not just as a statement, but because it's targeted at an audience that’s outside the standard demographics of horror buffs.
The Rule of Penny Jen has an age-old premise about being the only witness to an unspeakable crime; whether it's a camp classic like Fright Night or a contemporary work like the remake of The Invisible Man, horror is at its most effective when the protagonist doesn’t have anyone they can speak to honestly without being judged. However, The Rule of Penny Jen doesn’t need a supernatural twist to make an elderly care facility terrifying. Instead, the film is reflective of the frightening notion that even the most valuable and accomplished citizens could be left to wither and die by an uncaring society. The film’s protagonist is Stefan Mortensen (Geoffrey Rush), who was a respected judge in another life. Although he executed years of service without a hint of corruption, Stefan’s line of work didn’t make him a lot of friends, which is why he’s forced into a care home against his will.
Stefan’s predicament would be unnerving enough if The Rule of Penny Jen was a straightforward psychological drama because it's unclear to the facility’s staffers if his recollections are any different than the tall-tales told by the permanent residents; Stefan’s claim to have judged thousands of criminal trials isn’t treated with any more credence than the ravings of his hysterical roommate, who has a genuine belief in irreconcilable superstitions. The only hope Stefan has to be treated any differently is to fall in line and abide by the rules, which has made him submissive.
The disparity between the two pillars of Stefan’s life are stark because of how few flashbacks are featured in The Rule of Penny Jen. The only time Stefan’s seen in the courtroom is towards the end of his lengthy career, in which any authority he’s assumed is based on his longstanding reputation for being uncharitable. An impressionistic drama about this dramatic loss of authority might’ve made for a compelling film in its own right, but The Rule of Penny Jen is pitched in a pulpier tone. This was for the best because a mediocre dementia drama is still uncomfortable to watch, and there’s a baseline of entertainment value within even the most derivative high-concept thrillers.
The fear that many memory-stricken seniors face about an enigmatic boogeyman is literalized in The Rule of Penny Jen in the form of Dave Crealy (John Lithgow), a long-term patient of the care home who has the opposite strategy of Stefan. Stefan is (or at least was) a brilliant man who must fight to not be perceived as a fool, whereas Crealy’s used the guise of a bewildered, unsophisticated retiree to mask his sinister activities. Crealy used to be the type of man that Stefan would’ve sentenced during his days in court. Although it was Stefan’s pride that initially caught Crealy’s notice, it became the inception of a bitter feud.
There was a risk that The Rule of Penny Jen could’ve felt like a pseudo-serious attempt to place elderly characters in the midst of a traditional slasher flick, but director James Ashcroft is smart in the employment of jump scares. Crealy isn’t a Max Cady-esque psychopath who presents any real danger to any of the nursing staff, but he’s found a way to victimize the vulnerable residents without anyone noticing. Lithgow’s performance is magnetic because of how quickly Crealy’s behavior can fluctuate based on the impression he’s desired; Crealy isn’t above doing a silly song-and-dance number to charm the wide-eyed caregivers because it’s allowed him to sneak behind closed doors to bludgeon the sitting ducks within his ward.
An inability to reckon with the realities of age is ties Crealy and Stefan together, even if they’d loathe to admit to any similarities. Stefan’s presumption of superiority has given him less incentive to admit any physical incapacities, which has made his fall-from-grace even more drastic. Although it’s implied that Crealy may have suffered from delusions before retirement, there’s a sick glee to the brutality he’s inflicted among others. Within the wall of this closely-knit community, there aren’t any wealth of connections that prevent everyone from being equalized.
The Rule of Penny Jen is at its least interesting in its final third, where it has to drop its macro-level suspense vignettes in favor of a more straightforward conclusion. Nonetheless, it's by far the most interesting film Rush has done in over a decade, given that he spent many of his best years as a self-parody in Pirates of the Caribbean; Lithgow, whose doomed himself by signing on to the upcoming Harry Potter HBO series, is here as a reminder of the campy villains he portrayed in Blow Out and Ricochet. Horror may still be oriented toward young people, but the occasional older-skewing gem like The Rule of Jenny Pen is an appropriate shake-up.