Review: Director Azazel Jacobs gives 'His Three Daughters' a rattling tension and a sense that love has many faces

No flashy effects. No swervy car chases. No monsters with fangs. All the fireworks in "His Three Daughters," now in theaters on its way to a Sept. 20 debut on Netflix, come from human interaction, adding up to a landmark in miniature about the bruised places in the heart.

The gifted writer-director Azazel Jacobs ("Momma's Man," "French Exit") guides three sublime actresses -- Carrie Coon, Elizabeth Olsen and Natasha Lyonne -- through this piercingly funny, bruisingly sad chamber piece as sisters coping with the impending death of their father.

If you're dreading a dreary march into funereal gloom, snap out of it. Jacobs doesn't do slogging, self-pitying melodrama, preferring the bracing lift of humor, even in the most dire of circumstances. Shot by the skilled Sam Levy in a real two-bedroom, rent-controlled apartment in Manhattan, the film carves its own path into what defines a family.

As their mostly unseen father Vincent (Jay O. Sanders) lays dying, the women do battle over matters large and small. The laughs, when they come, are of the lacerating kind, as when older sister Katie (Coon), who barely visits from nearby Brooklyn, slams middle sister Rachel (Lyonne, outstanding), from another mother, who has functioned as dad's live-in nurse.

The youngest sister, Christina, is played by Olsen as the peacemaker of the trio. But she has her job cut out for her as Katie laces into Rachel for her pot smoking, her sports gambling, her Black boyfriend (a terrific Jovan Adepo) and her perceived neglect in not getting dad to sign a DNR (Do Not Resuscitate). The fact that Rachel will inherit the apartment is a thorn in Katie's side.

A hospice caregiver named Angel (Rudy Galvan) also figures in the action as the sisters each map out a way ahead after the death of their father, who was the glue that held them together.

Jacobs gives "His Three Daughters" a rattling tension and a sense that love has many faces instead of a one-size-fits-all mask of grief. When asked to help with her father's obituary, Rachel suggests "married a couple of crazy bitches, raised a couple of crazy bitches."

The three stars have all distinguished themselves on film, but are probably best known for their recent and distinctive TV work -- Coon as the controlling socialite in "The Gilded Age," Olsen as the Scarlet Witch in "WandaVision'" and Lyonne as the fugitive cocktail waitress in "Poker Face" with an uncanny ability to tell when someone is lying.

The raw honesty of Lyonne's performance as Rachel shows that she shares that ability. Lyonne steals every scene she's in. Her throaty-voice and no-bull attitude suggests a woman who can't be bothered with faking it. Her award-worthy performance is unmissable and unforgettable.

Remarkably, a portrait of the father also emerges. Until the end, when Sanders is allowed to give brief voice to Vincent, the father is little more than the sound of a heart monitor beeping from another room. But through the conflicting memories of his three daughters, Vincent emerges as a man in full in a film that is by turns funny, touching and vital.