Written by Andreas Babiolakis

Warning: The following review is of a film that is part of TIFF 2023 and may contain spoilers for His Three Daughters. This review also deals with the concept of death. Reader discretion is advised.

How do we cope with death? How do we even get to that reality when the inevitable is staring us in the face? Independent film guru Azazel Jacobs has returned with his latest feature, His Three Daughters, gracing the Toronto International Film Festival. I think it is safe to say that this is his greatest achievement thus far; if Jacobs was always interested in protecting the idiosyncrasies of the human experience that so oft are left off of the big screen, then he has done more than his mission statement with His Three Daughters when it comes to the awkward, occasionally hilarious discomforts and discourses surrounding impending death. With three superstar performances at the forefront (should none of them be nominated for an Academy Award, I will lose my mind), His Three Daughters was already an interesting series of observations from Jacobs that cathartically consoles those who have gone through death and grief that only gets elevated to an emotional echelon.

We have the three titular daughters who couldn’t be any more different from one another. The eldest is Rachel (Natasha Lyonne) whose birth father died when she was young and only shares the same mom with her siblings; she is a pothead who detests confrontation. Christina (Elizabeth Olsen) has a family and apparently couldn’t be happier with her new-age philosophies and serenity; she subliminally clings to her youth via the T-shirts from her childhood home she sports throughout His Three Daughters, as if she grew up too quickly and refuses to acknowledge this. Then there’s Katie (Carrie Coon) who is temperamental and is trying to be as by-the-book about everything as possible; she resents that her attempts have rendered her the “bitch” of her family (either via her siblings, or her husband and children). All three are facing the gradual deterioration of their father (who took in Rachel as one of his bloodline members as well) who is literally days away from passing.

We start with an uncomfortable series of mid-ranged closeups of the three daughters discussing these circumstances. These act as introductions to their lives, natures, and thoughts based on the situation, but they are framed as if they are Zoom call screenshots with different backgrounds (given their seating placement): they couldn’t be further away. This is also true because they grew up apart. Rachel is the only child who stayed and has actually taken care of their ailing father for the last little while. The other two sisters moved away, but some further than others (Christina moved cross country, while Katie is just outside of the city but rarely visits as if she now lives on another planet). The dysfunction between the three is apparent from the start, and we know these final moments won’t go well at all. It’s tough to anticipate the death of a loved one without any certainty as to when exactly that will be (particularly because the act of suffering is challenging enough, but the final goodbye will forever agonize the living, and we’ll never be truly prepared for it). With the disconnection the three sisters have with one another, miscommunications and quarrelling philosophies are bound to happen and worsen the predicament.

We get superstar performances from Lyonne, Olsen, and Coon who all bring something new to the table. Lyonne is arguably the leader of the comic relief here but she also pains the most as she is unable to face her father in his final hours but will never openly admit this to anyone; she is burning on the inside and we can see in her distant gaze that she cannot fully process the gravity of this situation. Olsen is youthful and almost naive but she aims to be sincere and the peacemaker between the other two siblings who continuously are at odds with each other; you will believe Olsen is at the end of her rope when she finally snaps. Coon is gruff but it’s likely because she has no other idea as to how to best approach the situation; there’s no pretty way to deal with death. She is not only ruthless with others: she damns herself as well and is cursed by her looming isolation the more she pushes others away. Together we have an exhilarating chemical reaction between three opposing forces that walk on the same field of eggshells. Everyone wants what is best for their dad, but they also risk harming his much-needed peacefulness by attacking one another.

There is an inquiry about art’s inability to perfectly capture what death is like when you witness it firsthand. I never knew the disparity being proposed here by Jacobs until I was by my mother’s bedside earlier this year and watched her fade away. There really is nothing that captures that awful, haunting feeling: the burden of a loved one’s suffering being instantly lifted while their soaring soul rises from their eyes as they close one final time and the immediate drop of the lifetime of anguish that crushes you straight afterwards. Jacobs publicly acknowledges the impossibility of encapsulating this feeling in art, but he also tries his best to accomplish it in His Three Daughters through a meta, bittersweet climax where we finally see the father — who has been tucked away in his room for most of the film — and he can provide his final thoughts on life before he departs. We quickly realize this isn’t real, but Jacobs still provides a podium for a voiceless person moments away from expiration, and what Jacobs is doing in this moment is beautiful. As someone who was able to say every last thing I needed to say to my mother before she left and who wanted to know what she would say back, thank you, Azazel Jacobs. This still isn’t quite how it feels, but this is close and honest enough, and I heard my mom through this father bidding farewell at least for a moment.

His Three Daughters concludes with unity and Olsen singing the nursery rhyme Five Little Ducks; the significance here is that we see the aftermath of these sisters — reunited through tragedy — and how they will disperse once more. There is no more father duck to call them all back, at least not in a physical sense. The implication in the final line of the song is that this family will never fragment like they once did because they can only relive their father’s existence and memories together, so it will only be a matter of time before they’re as whole as they can be again. Still, the family will forever be down one person, and I know all too well what this feels like. If Jacobs was ever going to reach that moment where he broke out in full force, that time is now with His Three Daughters: a powerful film for those that haven’t experienced death firsthand (as an indication of the precariousness of what these last days are like), and an even more excruciating-yet-empathetic acknowledgement for those that have.

So, how do we embrace death? With distance so we can find the will to keep going unscathed? With love, even if it renders us naive? With truth, despite how rigid and broken it will leave us? There is no right way, but there are methods that are correct for each specific individual. Jacobs’ startling film, His Three Daughters, makes the most of a limited budget and a small set by forcing three starkly different characters to cope with one another to the point that they embrace each other’s differences. They accuse one another of heinous claims, but they learn through error that they have misunderstood each other their entire lives. If there’s a suggestion Jacobs makes when it comes to coping, His Three Daughters promises that there’s only one correct way that people can survive the horrors of death: together.

Andreas Babiolakis has a Masters degree in Film and Photography Preservation and Collections Management from Toronto Metropolitan University, as well as a Bachelors degree in Cinema Studies from York University. His favourite times of year are the Criterion Collection flash sales and the annual Toronto International Film Festival.