Review: HIS THREE DAUGHTERS

 by Rob DiCristino

“You need each other. It’s good that there are three of you.”

You know, Katie (Carrie Coon) is a little bit overwhelmed right now, and she’d appreciate it if you could just give her a second to get her thoughts together and come up with a plan. Her father (Jay O. Sanders) is dying, you see, and he slipped into incoherence before he could sign a Do Not Resuscitate order. DNRs are very important: Katie’s friend, whose mother didn’t have one, watched as paramedics forced the dying woman back to life — causing irreparable brain damage in the process — instead of letting her pass peacefully in her sleep. That woman could have avoided two very painful final weeks if she’d had a DNR, and Katie is having a little bit of trouble understanding why her sisters Christina (Elizabeth Olsen) and Rachel (Natasha Lyonne) aren’t taking her search for one more seriously. Her sisters, her husband, her vicious, spoiled, teenage daughter — no one takes Katie’s concerns seriously anymore. When did she become the enemy? She’s just looking for a bit of cooperation. She can’t do every single thing herself. Her father, as you know, is dying.

But Katie isn’t the only one of writer/director Azazel Jacobs’ titular daughters thrown into emotional disarray by their father’s impending death. Christina, a new mom returning to New York City after spending years building a life across the country, just wishes that her cantankerous sisters could find some common ground in this period of confusion. Their father wouldn’t want to hear them bickering over whose name is on the apartment lease — Rachel’s — or whether or not Katie came over to care for him often enough — she didn’t — after his diagnosis. Can’t they feel the peace in unity, the spiritual enlightenment that comes with acceptance? Maybe not. She’s never been especially close to her sisters, anyway; both of them left home while she was still a teenager. She was self-sufficient. Resourceful. Their guidance — had it ever been offered — wasn’t ever really needed. Maybe her sisters just lack the purpose Christina’s found in domestic life. That’s it. Being a parent gives us identity. Focus. It makes everything else seem unimportant, right? That’s why people do it. Right?

Rachel doesn’t have any kids, and she’s not sure why anyone would want them. She’s got her hands full with her parlays — football and hoops, mostly — and can barely find enough time to dodge the apartment complex security guard (Jose Febus) and smoke a blunt outside in peace. Isn’t it supposed to be legal now? Why is everyone making such a big deal? Why is Katie on her case about smoking in her own place, anyway? And criticizing her about the old food in the fridge. Katie hasn’t even been here, you know? Rachel and her boyfriend (a stunning Jovan Adepo) have been the ones taking care of dad this whole time. That’s another thing: So what if Vincent isn’t her biological father? He married her mom after her “real” dad died. She was four. She doesn’t remember him. Vincent raised her. Katie has always made her feel uncomfortable about that, you know? Like she doesn’t belong. Like she doesn’t deserve to get the apartment after dad dies. She doesn’t even want the stupid place. Katie can have it, if it’s so important to her. And holy fuck, will Christina ever stop talking about her kid?

These are the stars of His Three Daughters, the delicate and keenly-observed story of three people who would do just about anything not to be crammed together in this apartment watching their father take his last breaths. Like many adult siblings, they no longer have much in common, and grieving with this kind of forced intimacy is tearing open wounds that should have scabbed over by now. It’s hard enough to compose an obituary — “Dad didn’t give a shit about things you’re not supposed to give a shit about,” writes Rachel with charming, let’s say “homemade,” poignancy — or to deal with a hospice nurse (Rudy Galvan) whose condolences have grown severe to the point of sanctimonious, not-so-slyly daring them to pull the plug and end it once and for all. It’s next to impossible to handle those things with people who don’t understand you or what you need. How could they? These women need privacy, they think, to spend whatever hours they have left with their dad in peace. They need to think about what he means to them, not be reminded that they mean nothing to each other.

But Jacobs, elevating his game after minor indie fare like Momma’s Man and The Lovers, won’t let them off that easily. These are avoidance addicts whose coping strategies — Rachel’s weed, Christina’s domestic bliss, Katie’s power struggle with her daughter— are rendered completely ineffective by the unshakable reality before them. Jacobs and cinematographer Sam Levy barely even let them breathe at first, framing them alone at tables, leaning against walls, or obscured by the refrigerator door as if each one is too frightened to cross into the open spaces they used to share. As His Three Daughters progresses, however, as revelations lead to revulsions and back to reclamations before collapsing into recriminations (I could go on, and so could they), their father’s apartment — and the frame that captures it — becomes homier and more inviting. Jacobs gradually warms us to the space until it becomes as familiar to us as it is to his characters, until we understand why it’s so important and what each of them lost when they left it behind.

The performances here are uniformly excellent, with all-star character actress Carrie Coon doing the heavy dramatic lifting and Jacobs cohort Elizabeth Olsen (Sorry for Your Loss) playing Christina so fragile that we’re convinced a strong gust of wind will shatter her into a million pieces. Awards consideration should, must, and — if Netflix’s recent track record is any indication — will be paid, however, to Natasha Lyonne, whose Rachel begins as an inconvenient piece of leftover furniture and evolves into the moral center of the entire film. Secure in herself from first to last, Rachel doesn’t change as much as she forces change around her, imploring those who would presume to judge to realize that we all hurt, that we all project, that we all need. It’s somehow the showiest of the three performances and the most reserved, thunderous but never histrionic. Confident, complete, and even a little risky — check that last-act dip into magical realism — His Three Daughters embraces that complexity in service of a very simple truth: Family is forever, whether we like it or not.

His Three Daughters opens in select theaters on September 6th and hits Netflix on September 20th.