In perhaps what could be John Lithgow's final villainous role before he devotes however much time necessary as Professor Dumbledore in the now ill-advised Harry Potter streaming series, The Rule of Jenny Pen benefits from his diabolical commitment, reminding us as to why such efforts as Raising Cain, Cliffhanger and the television series Dexter proved as memorable because of his presence alone.

 

His New Zealand accent here may be more miss than hit, but its off-kilter delivery somehow only adds to his character's unnerving nature. That and the fact that his iron fist is lobbed up the backside of a creepy baby-doll puppet he has named Jenny Pen.

 

Lithgow's Dave Creeley rules within the walls of the Royal Pine Mews convalescent home, and, it would appear, Jenny Pen rules Dave. As to why we are inside Royal Pine Mews is because arrogant New Zealand judge, Stefan Mortensen (Geoffrey Rush), who oft dishes out maximum sentences with little regard, suffers a stroke and finds himself committed.

 

He's understandably eager to get back on his feet so he can start just judging again, what with his roommate proving irritable (at least for Stefan) and the overall mentality of Royal Pine Mews less than desirable. But it's easier said than done within the Eli Kent-James Ashcroft penned script (Ashcroft also on directing duties), as the roost-running of Dave proves much more difficult to navigate, and the film flirts with the notion of Jenny Pen being either a supernatural force or a figment of Dave's imagination to varying degrees of success.

 

Watching Rush and Lithgow go toe-to-toe with one another is truly one of the film's greatest assets, and the duo are delivering stronger performances than the film probably deserves. Ashcroft's direction is appropriately atmospheric, but the script (based upon Owen Marshall's short story) leaves a lot to be desired from a sensical point of view; even within the realms of a horror story, many of the decisions don't ring true.

 

The Rule of Jenny Pen is sporadically unsettling, and had it truly leaned into its bonkers ingredients it could have truly been an outstanding genre example, rather than the more standard, missed opportunity vehicle it ultimately serves as. Lithgow and Rush inject proceedings with enough energy to warrant a recommendation, and little baby dolls will always be inherently creepy, so there's that, but this particular Rule feels more like a suggestion than anything mandatory.