A group of incarcerated fathers are warned in the documentary “Daughters” that they are about to experience an “emotional roller coaster.” A better prediction has never been made.
In the film, directed by Natalie Rae and Angela Patton, incarcerated fathers in a Washington DC prison are given a rare gift: a few hours to spend with their daughters, who range in age from 5 to late teens. For one afternoon they can be together to dance, cuddle and laugh.
For some girls, the program, called Daddy Daughter Dance, will be the first time they ever touch their father. Others have not seen their father for years. The trend in U.S. prisons is toward video calls and away from in-person “touch visits.” Even “in-person” visits often take place via plexiglass and a telephone.
The unspoken question running through “Daughters,” which debuts Wednesday on Netflix, is: Should it be so rare for incarcerated men to have real human interaction with their children? In this heartbreak of a documentary, the most plaintive plea is fundamental. Whatever else they are, one of the captured men says, “We’re still fathers.”
“Daughters,” an award winner at the Sundance Film Festival earlier this year, first turns its attention to some young girls as they prepare for the afternoon. Aubrey, a talkative, immediately likable five-year-old, says, “When he says he loves me, I say I love him more.” Aubrey’s father, Keith, will spend another seven years in prison, a period that even a five-year-old child as smart as Aubrey simply cannot imagine. She learns to count.
Others have more complicated feelings before the dance. Santana, 10, promises not to shed a tear when she goes. “The only reason he’s not here is because he wants to keep doing bad things,” she says. Her father, Mark, did not hug his daughter until she was one year old. For Ja’Ana, 11, seeing her father is even rarer. Her mother did not want her to see her father behind bars. “I don’t remember anything about my father, nothing at all,” she says.
On the day of the dance, the fathers, all dressed in suits and with a flower on their lapel, sit in a long row of chairs when their daughters arrive. The filmmakers capture the moment almost like a fairy tale, with lots of lights and little sound, save for some music and a few cries of “Daddy!” and a little muffled crying.
Fathers and daughters play and dance in a gym. Some are having a ball. For others, it is clear that the gap between them cannot be bridged in one day. When it’s time for the daughters to go home and the fathers to return to their cells, the goodbyes are inevitably crushing. Before the girls leave, the fathers sign a pledge to preserve their lives. In the twelve years that the program lasts, 95% of participating fathers do not return to prison.
We’ve been fortunate enough this summer to see two exquisitely tender films about the lives of incarcerated people and the paths they might take to redemption in “Daughters” and the recently released true-story-inspired drama “Sing Sing.” In ‘Daughters’, the dialogue surrounding the dance is also cause for reflection on the upbringing of the imprisoned men themselves and the cycles of parental absence that can extend across generations.
Time is the fundamental measure of prison life, making a documentary like “Daughters,” filmed over many years, uniquely, perhaps even monstrous, able to capture its passing. As much as “Daughters” can be an emotional rollercoaster, there’s no preparation for the film’s painful epilogue years later. Aubrey is now eight. She hasn’t seen her father since the dance. When she is finally allowed to visit her father, she does not recognize him through the plexiglass. On the drive home, Aubrey no longer looks as optimistic as she was at age five. Make no mistake. This is a tragedy, in very real time.
“Daughters,” a Netflix release, is rated PG-13 due to some thematic elements and language. Running time: 107 minutes. Three stars out of four.
