The fact that this film’s title isn’t Three Sisters is telling.
Writer/director Azazel Jacobs opens his story in what feels like the middle of the first act.. Katie (Carrie Coon), Christina (Elizabeth Olsen) and Rachel (Natasha Lyonne) are gathered inside their father’s New York City apartment. He has neared the end of a battle against cancer, and has just entered hospice care.
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| Nervous exhaustion leads to an unexpectedly tender moment between, clockwise from top, Christina (Elizabeth Olsen), Katie (Carrie Coon) and Rachel (Natasha Lyonne). |
What follows takes place over the course of three volatile days.
Katie, the eldest and most practical, adopts an authoritative, take-charge manner that involves lists, schedules, phone calls, food for each meal, and “behavioral suggestions” that feel more like commands than requests. (She must’ve been hell to grow up with, as a bossy older sister.) Being useful is her way of coping ... but, ironically, she has no control over her teenage daughter back in Brooklyn.
Rachel, a casually sloppy, failure-to-launch stoner who spends all her time sports gambling, does her best to stay out of the way ... and particularly away from Katie’s gaze.
The holistic and somewhat shy Christina, who gamely tries to run interference between the other two, chatters constantly about missing her own young daughter, Mirabelle, back at their West Coast home. She calms herself via yoga, and sings Grateful Dead songs to their father, much to the bewilderment of the other two women. Olsen makes Christina a bit too radiant; we halfway expect to see her surrounded by an aura.
Being thrown together by this tragic end-game is uncomfortable enough; it’s even worse because the apartment is so claustrophobic. Jacobs and cinematographer Sam Levy filmed in an actual apartment — not a film set, with moveable walls — which further enhances the tight closeness. (I wondered, at times, where the heck Levy put his camera!) The film stock is warm and slightly grainy, which adds a sense that we’re eavesdropping via a lengthy and painfully intimate home movie.
The result feels very much like a stage play, and possesses the same dramatic intensity.
The tableau opens up only when Rachel goes outside for a fresh toke ... and to escape Katie’s tight-lipped disapproval. This exasperates the building’s security guard, Victor (Jose Febus), who fields complaints from other tenants unhappy about the smell of smoke. (Not marijuana per se, but any smoke.)
Victor’s amused annoyance notwithstanding, he and Rachel clearly are fond of each other.
The dying man remains an unseen presence in a room at the end of a long hallway; we see only portions of ominous-looking machines bathed in a dim red glow. Jacobs conveys an uneasy sense that, somehow, the room no longer is part of the apartment; stepping through that doorway means going ... somewhere else.
Each woman periodically spends time visiting, in that room, but we only hear about it after the fact; we’re never present with them.
The details and intricacies of what to expect are shared during visits by Angel (Rudy Galvan), a compassionate hospice worker who — from his expressions — isn’t surprised by the brittle dynamic between the three women. He has seen it all before.
Katie and Christina are true sisters; Rachel is their half sister, from their father’s second marriage. An undercurrent of entitlement links the first two, as if they’re somehow better than Rachel, which she senses. The irony is that Katie and Christina have been fleeting visitors at best, over the years, whereas Rachel has shared the apartment with her father during all that time, and has done the work.
She’s most knowledgeable about the situation, but lacks the words to explain what she has endured; she therefore withdraws, in order to protect herself. The resignation on Lyonne’s face is painful, fearing that she’ll always be criticized by Katie, and looked down upon. One such conversation, as Katie confronts Rachel about smoking in the bathroom, takes place with the camera pointed solely at Lyonne, as she endures this diatribe. The subtle nuances of her expressions are marvelous.
No surprise that Rachel so frequently retreats outdoors, bantering with Victor via false cheer and a resigned What the hell? manner, assuming nothing will change.
Except that it must, and that’s the whole point of Jacobs’ story. Grief and the impending arrival of death will force a change. That occurs during a subtle psychological shift when dreading what is inevitable, becomes waiting for it.
Coon plays Katie as a relentless, tightly wound force of nature; like a shark, she always needs to be moving, planning, doing. But we also see, in the actress’ gaze, that she has embraced this role because it’s expected of her. She’s often exhausted, and would like to let go, and relax ... but doesn’t know how. Confronting her own shortcomings won’t be easy.
The sparring, prickly conversations, and attempts at reconciliation are alternately funny, poignant, wincingly judgmental, and quietly tragic. These three should be friends, or at least comfortable allies; it becomes clear that each wishes that could be true. The question is what might occur — who might unexpectedly erupt — in order to establish a genuine bond. Or if that’ll happen at all.
Jovan Adepo has a telling moment as Rachel’s boyfriend Benjy, who confronts Katie and Christina with what we’ve been thinking all along.
Although it sounds like this would be a painfully uncomfortable way to spend 101 minutes, that isn’t true at all. All three actresses are captivating, as are Jacobs’ dialogue and the beats of his storyline. Viewers likely will recognize a part of themselves in at least one of these women, which enriches the film’s intensity.
Much can be learned here, about human nature ... and the need to become better versions of ourselves.
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