Azazel Jacobs’s His Three Daughters opens with a series of dense, almost theatrical monologues delivered by the three adult daughters of a dying man. It’s a bold choice, potentially risky, but the three remarkable actresses bring depth to their roles. Carrie Coon portrays Katie, who takes on the role of the responsible adult, quickly listing tasks, observations, and subtle grievances to her sister Rachel (Natasha Lyonne). Next is Elizabeth Olsen’s Christina, the youngest, who is focused on caring for their father in his bedroom, where he’s receiving hospice care. Her wide-eyed maternal instincts mask a deep-seated uncertainty; she often nods at the end of her statements, almost convincing herself of their truth. Finally, there’s Lyonne’s Rachel, the overwhelmed pot smoker who has lived with their aging father for years but struggles to enter his room.
While the film starts with this theatrical intensity, it soon shifts as the three sisters navigate their father’s impending death. For much of the film, he remains unseen, and instead, the focus is on the complicated dynamics between the sisters, who have grown apart but aren’t fully estranged. Katie often criticizes Rachel, particularly about her weed smoking, while Rachel tries to navigate the tensions. The screenplay does seem to set up a contrast between the sisters: Katie as the all-business city professional and Christina as the soft-spoken suburban yoga mom, occasionally bordering on caricature. Rachel, with her carefree attitude, seems to be surviving their visit. Although the dynamics are familiar, they risk becoming predictable, lacking surprises in how they reveal the sisters’ relationships with their father.
However, the performances elevate the material. Coon’s portrayal of Katie captures her constant agitation, while Olsen conveys Christina’s warmth tinged with insecurity. Lyonne brings a raspy charm to Rachel’s carefree demeanor, making their interactions engaging despite the predictable character arcs.
Does the film ultimately reach any conclusions? It grapples with themes of waiting—waiting for death, reconciliation, or confrontation. As the sisters slowly understand each other, Jacobs highlights the exhaustion and alienation that can accompany caring for a dying loved one, even without emotional fulfillment. By largely keeping the father off-screen, the film allows us to focus on the daughters’ interactions, shaped by their shared history with him.
In a curious twist, the film’s conclusion features the father (played by Jay O. Sanders) appearing more lucid than expected when the daughters move him to his favorite chair. In a surreal moment, he removes his medical tubes, pours himself a drink, and delivers his own monologue about his daughters and his love for New York. This scene, while intriguing, is later revealed to be a fantasy, feeling like a narrative device to bring closure rather than genuine understanding. It suggests Jacobs struggled with how to conclude the film, avoiding a mundane ending that reflects on death, paralleling the characters’ own challenges in confronting their father’s mortality.
