In a multi-room New York apartment, everyone finds their refuge, with Katie (Carrie Coon) spending most of her time in the kitchen or sitting at the table, trying to get the Do Not Ressucitate paper signed, or making food while drinking wine. In the hall, on a yoga mat or on the phone, Christina (Elizabeth Olsen) tries to soothe the emotions by exercising or calling her children. Locked away in her room watching matches she’s bet on, or on a bench smoking a joint, Rachel (Natasha Lyonne) isn’t much of a talker. All are gathered in the apartment of their father, Vincent (Jay O. Sanders), who is about to die in the next few days in his room at the end of the corridor.

His Three Daughters, written and directed by Azazel Jacobs, had already made its mark during its first screenings at the Toronto International Film Festival in September 2023. Fast forward a year later, and the film has been acquired by Netflix and released on the streaming platform on September 20.

In this small apartment, many emotions and feelings circulate, repressed by each sister: envy, sadness, jealousy, pain, love. Magnified by its superb cast, His Three Daughters brilliantly deals with grief and the acceptance of differences in each person. Each sister deals with premature grief in her own way. Katie drowns herself in work and tasks so as not to wait for the fateful moment, while Rachel remains silent in the face of Katie’s reproaches for anything approaching what she does. And on the other side of the spectrum, Christina seems to fill conversations and emotions with words to avoid confronting them head-on.

Beautifully directed by Azazel Jacobs and his cinematographer Sam Levy, His Three Daughters isolates the sisters in its first half with close-ups focused on their faces, each believing that their lives and pain take precedence over those of the others. But what brings peace to the apartment is simply talking, sharing our feelings about the situation, about how others see us. From then on, Jacobs opens up the frame to wider shots, to an acceptance of each other’s differences and personalities. His direction adapts to the rhythm of the changing relationships between the sisters, slowly but progressively.

The choice of sets, which is relatively restrained, also allows for an intimacy with the characters and their emotions. We spend so much time in Vincent’s apartment that, by the end, we know it as well as the sisters and caregivers. Jacobs plays on this proximity between the audience and his characters to bring us closer to the tensions, redemptions and life that emanate from this apartment. Each room is filled with objects, memories, moments spent between Vincent and one of his daughters. When Christina finds a Greatful Dead T-shirt in her boxes, she rediscovers not only a memory, but also a part of her father.

They are, after all, united by the death of their father, whose electrocardiogram echoes louder and louder in the ears and minds of each woman as the days go by. Azazel Jacobs’ writing cleverly exposes Vincent’s life and personality without ever, or almost ever, showing him. This forces the sisters to set out their father’s obituary, their visions of his life, his passions and what he embodied, around a piece of paper. Unconsciously, bonds are forged between them as they begin to share similarities, such as the morbidity of Angel (Rudy Galvan), a carer who comes in every day to take stock of the situation and announce that Vincent is nearing death, and that they must prepare for the inevitable.

As the irretrievable draws closer, the sisters come closer than ever to form a bond, sharing their grief together instead of blaming each other for things without ever really looking at one another. With His Three Daughters, Azazel Jacobs brings comfort in sadness, hope in loss and reunion in the separation of a loved one.