Of course, this is all in good fun, but Jenny Pen doesn't shy away from tackling serious, even traumatic, issues. It digs into the deep wounds of medical gaslighting, elder abuse, and sexual assault—both of children and elderly women—with a kind of dark curiosity. With its stunning cinematography and deliberate direction, the film often channels a vibe reminiscent of Ari Aster's unsettling, yet mesmerizing style. This is especially true in a chilling opening sequence where an elderly man meets a grisly end by random combustion.
While Aster is contemporary cinema's reigning trickster, director James Ashcroft shares his penchant for mischievousness. When Jenny Pen hits its mark, it succeeds in a way that traps you in your seat while simultaneously urging you to flee the theater (or hit pause on Shudder). Yet the film often falters when it shifts awkwardly between black comedy and disturbing violence, rather than skillfully blending the two into a singular, stomach-churning thrill.
Lithgow and Rush bring to life two extremely mismatched personalities, much like Joan Crawford and Bette Davis in What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? Rush plays Stefan, a respected (and seemingly friendless) New Zealand judge who suffers a stroke early in the film, leaving him confined to a wheelchair. He’s a condescending, self-important jerk, rude to his nursing home roommate (played by George Henare) and dismissive of the mostly female care staff. Lithgow’s character, Dave, is the real menace—a kooky, demented figure more dangerous than he first appears.
Dave has turned Royale Pine Mews into his personal domain, terrorizing the other residents each night and manipulating the nursing staff into enforcing his will. Cross him, and you might find yourself meeting a grim fate—literally "dying in your sleep." His cruel, sadistic dominance over the other residents is disturbing, but it crosses a bizarre line when the film later portrays these same residents, many in various stages of dementia, for comedic effect.
Is it a nightmare? A joke? For much of its runtime, Jenny Pen feels like a nightmare, as Stefan’s condition worsens and his physical decline becomes more grotesque. By the end of the film, he can barely feed himself, and the tension between sympathizing with him (he’s still a jerk) and reveling in his suffering is painfully loud. This leads to a ridiculous, cartoonish physical showdown between Lithgow and Rush, with the camera inching in close for maximum absurdity.
Lithgow’s casting is a big draw for the film. There’s something thrilling about seeing this normally mild-mannered actor dive into full-on villainy. He delivers, donning high-waisted pants and wielding a creepy baby-doll puppet. His attempt at a New Zealand accent, however, isn’t particularly convincing, and at times, he could have leaned further into the over-the-top nature of the film. Or maybe, is this a campy, unserious movie after all?
The film’s obsession with pee suggests it might be, but Henare’s character—a Maori retired footballer trying to perform a haka in the nursing home cafeteria—adds a layer of pathos that contradicts the campy moments. Balancing these extremes is tricky, but Jenny Pen pulls it off often enough that the film’s absurdity lands, even if its impact is diluted by an overly long runtime and uneven tone. For a film that intentionally undermines itself for its own amusement, getting it right even intermittently still counts as a success.