It would be a stretch to call His Three Daughters, written and directed by Azazel Jacobs (French Exit), a modern-day retelling of King Lear. Vincent (Jay O. Sanders), the dying father around whom the film revolves, is far from a powerful monarch.
Instead, he spent his career as a mid-level employee in New York City’s government and now resides in a rented apartment in one of Manhattan’s middle-income housing buildings.
However, for the three women gathered at this apartment to be with Vincent during the final stage of his hospice care, the modest, cluttered space becomes something of a kingdom—the last place where they can collectively recall their childhood.
The struggle that unfolds between the daughters isn’t a battle for succession like in Lear, but rather a deeper attempt to reconcile the children they once were with the adults they’ve become.
The three daughters come from two different mothers, a detail that becomes more significant as the film progresses: the eldest, Katie (Carrie Coon), and the youngest, Christina (Elizabeth Olsen), share the same mother, while the middle daughter, Rachel (Natasha Lyonne), joined the family when Vincent remarried after his first wife passed away.
Rachel’s mother has also since died, and as adults, the sisters have drifted apart.
Katie lives in Brooklyn, a subway ride away, but visits rarely due to the demands of her rebellious teenage daughter and a likely high-pressure, prestigious job, given her high-strung, often authoritative demeanor.
Christina, living in another state far from New York, is a devoted wife and mother to a toddler, exuding a hippie vibe with her daily yoga routines and past involvement in following the Grateful Dead on tour.
Rachel, however, has remained closest to their father both emotionally and physically. Before he became ill, she lived with Vincent in the apartment.
She doesn’t have a traditional job but makes money betting on sports and is unabashed about her frequent marijuana use, telling her sisters she starts each day with a hefty blunt.
It’s unclear how long Vincent has been battling cancer, but as the film begins, he has stopped eating and is only occasionally conscious.
Two hospice workers rotate shifts to care for him during the day, so the daughters’ main task is to visit him briefly as they wait for his passing in the adjacent rooms.
This setup leaves them with plenty of time to argue, whether it’s about mundane issues like cooking and dishes, Rachel’s constant pot smoking, or the precise wording for the obituary Katie is writing for their father.
Most of their conflicts stem from long-standing sibling dynamics: Katie’s overbearing eldest-child tendencies make the others feel subordinate; Christina’s calm, self-assured demeanor can come off as condescending perfectionism; and Rachel, as the stepsister whose arrival once disrupted the family, still feels subtly excluded from their bond with Vincent, despite being the one to care for him during his final years.
Each daughter has her own valid grievances, but they’re incapable of discussing these topics without tears, someone storming out, or a full-blown shouting match. In one such altercation between Katie and Rachel, their would-be peacemaker Christina ends up yelling, “You’re both assholes!”
Unlike in Lear, none of these daughters resembles a greedy Regan or Goneril. In their own ways, all three are akin to Cordelia, deeply loving their father and convinced they each know the best way to care for him in his final moments.
His Three Daughters, currently in theaters and soon to be available on Netflix, is an almost entirely one-location film.
Apart from a few scenes in the building’s courtyard and one where Rachel steps out to buy more weed and chat with a neighbor’s dog, the entire family drama plays out within the confines of the cramped apartment, while the steady beeping of Vincent’s medical equipment provides a constant reminder of his impending death.
The claustrophobic setting could have easily given the movie a stagy feel, and at times the first hour does possess a certain theatricality, with the sisters’ backstories unfolding through their interactions and the presence of a compassionate hospice worker aptly named Angel (Randy Ramos, Jr.).
Still, cinematographer Sam Levy manages to imbue the limited space with an emotional geography: Vincent’s bedroom becomes a sort of forbidden zone for Rachel, who struggles to enter; the kitchen and dining room are frequently contested territories, often controlled by Katie, who assumes charge of the household.
Even the arrival of guests, such as Rachel’s boyfriend (played by an exceptional Jovan Adepo), adds tension. In one scene, he fiercely confronts Katie when she treats him like an outsider, reminding her that he’s probably shared more family meals in the apartment recently than she has.
The racial, sexual, and class tensions of that confrontation are packed with explosive potential, but Jacobs’ script leaves these issues unresolved, focusing instead on how the stubborn insistence on being right can prevent people from truly hearing one another.
Without revealing too much, I’ll say that the last 15 minutes of His Three Daughters brought up the film from an “expertly crafted family drama” to a “transcendent piece of art” with profound reflections on the impermanence of life.
Jay O. Sanders, who has been relatively quiet throughout the film, finally takes center stage in a single, stunning scene that is both tender and devastating, offering a shift in perspective that director Jacobs handles with delicate precision. It’s a moment that stays with you long after the film ends, inviting further reflection.
Sanders, known for his extensive work in theater, delivers a performance that nearly steals the final moments from the three lead actresses, though “stealing” seems inappropriate for a film so rooted in ensemble collaboration.
Vincent’s late emergence from his room doesn’t diminish the importance of his daughters’ journey; instead, it gifts them—and the audience—a moment of grace neither could have anticipated.
While the comparison to *King Lear* may not hold throughout—there are no scheming siblings or mad kings—the film does capture a sense of reconciliation, much like Lear’s final moments with Cordelia: “When thou dost ask me blessing, I’ll kneel down / And ask of thee forgiveness.”