Between seeing His Two Daughters and writing about it, I have repeatedly checked to make sure that the new drama written and directed by Azazel Jacobs isn’t adapted from a stage play. I think anyone might reasonably make that assumption, especially when watching the opening scenes of the film, when the titular trio convene in a modest New York City apartment that has been turned into a hospice location for their father. Beyond the general senses that comes from a plot that is clearly designed to keep the characters in a single space, the dialogue is stilted in a manner that suggests easing a crowd of theatergoers into the pending tale. Scenes play out with a meticulous precision that is calibrated by performances of crisp clarity.

I haven’t sleuthed out every detail of Jacobs’s creative process, so I guess it’s possible he toyed with the idea of telling this story is a different medium that the cinematic one that has been his life’s work. That seems implausible, though. Instead, I think the helmer sees the approach as creating a certainty of purpose. Even as he gradually brings more nuance into the construction of the drama, there’s not much mystery about who his principal characters are and how they are bound to ricochet off each other. Katie (Carrie Coon) is tersely chilly in her judgmental assessments of those around her, Rachel (Natasha Lyonne) is a stoner layabout whose affection for her father isn’t quite powerful enough to overcome her aversion to crossing the threshold to room where his deathbed stands, and Christina (Elizabeth Olsen) is a sweetly agreeable Deadhead who wants everyone to get along at this somber time. The emotional skirmishes and tenuous treaties play out just as expected.

Jacobs’s shortcomings in shaping the narrative are countered by his generous skill with the characters and performances. Lyonne is in a familiar role and yet cunningly plays against type. Her uncharacteristically withdrawn, guarded acting adds depth and surprise to her family outcast. Coon emphasizes the need and vulnerability that drive her character’s testy bossiness. For me, Olsen is the strongest of all of them, layering in levels of self-assurance that aren’t immediately evident. Even more that her screen sisters, Olsen takes the fiction Jacobs hands her and makes it real.