This article appeared in the November 22, 2024 edition of The Film Comment Letter, our free weekly newsletter featuring original film criticism and writing. Sign up for the Letter here.

Daughters (Natalie Rae and Angela Patton, 2024)

Daughters, the Netflix documentary directed by Natalie Rae and Angela Patton and co-produced by Kerry Washington, is a heartbreaking, eight-years-in-the-making project that explores the complex relationship between incarcerated fathers and their daughters. That important bond develops in the loneliest corners of overcrowded correctional facilities around the nation. Daughters dynamically evokes the longing and separation that shape the father-daughter connection by highlighting the impact of incarceration on emotional ties and family structures. Examining the long-term consequences of the fathers’ absences on the children’s lives is crucial to understanding the intricate web of knock-on effects created by the criminal-justice system.

Daughters centers on a daddy-daughter dance in the Washington, D.C. detention facility colloquially known as “the D.C. Jail.” The film begins in black and white, with footage of girls preparing for the dance, while co-director and activist Angela Patton is heard in voiceover explaining the origins of the event. Discussing ways in which girls and their fathers could grow closer, Patton tells us, one girl proposed a dance. When another replied that her father couldn’t attend because he was in jail, a third suggested that they take the dance to the jail. As Patton speaks, we see images of children entering the gym where they’ll finally get a chance to see their fathers. As part of the program, fathers spend 10 weeks preparing for the dance through group work led by fatherhood life coach Chad Morris. As we learn in the course of the film, 95 percent of fathers who complete the program never return to jail.

The film focuses on four fathers—Keith, Alonzo, Mark, and Frank—and their daughters: Aubrey, Raziah, Santana, and Ja’Ana, respectively. Watching Morris work with these men triggered reflections of my firsthand experiences participating in several fatherhood courses while serving a 15-year federal sentence. I saw myself in those semicircle therapy sessions, trying to share my pain and regret with my peers. Not until watching this film had I seen that part of my prison experience on the big screen: dads swapping stories about the last time they had seen their kids in person, and when they hoped to see them again. As the film toggles back and forth between the therapy sessions and scenes of birthday parties filled with dancing girls, we get a glimpse of what the fathers miss: milestones and memories, which accumulate in their absence.

Hollywood has done a great job of negatively dramatizing and sensationalizing the existences of those who live behind bars. What Daughters does is challenge this media-fueled image of the violent, shank-wielding inmate with behind-the-scenes views of concerned fathers seeking to connect with their daughters, and to grow and become better people. At one point, we see the men in a peaceful group setting, having a healthy dialogue about how to make their children comfortable in their presence after such a long separation. During a pre-dance meeting, two fathers raise concerns about their daughters being uneasy around them after having not seen them for several years. They ask if it’s possible to have the mothers present to provide emotional stability and support for their daughters, and to create a somewhat more comforting environment during this potentially sensitive event. It’s a powerful scene that contradicts the stigma of self-centeredness attached to incarcerated men whom society perceives to be hardened and violent.

The directors also trace the evolution of the daughters’ mindsets over the eight-year period of filming. Early on, we meet 5-year-old Aubrey, whose optimism is infectious as she talks about having her father back home in seven years, as if she’s talking about next week. A few days later, at the dance, she asks her father if he can come home in less than seven years if he behaves well. It’s heartbreaking to see: children are taught that good behavior brings rewards, but they don’t know that this concept does not apply in the criminal-justice system. During my own imprisonment, I tried to pacify my children over many 15-minute calls with a unique way of calculating my absence that would acquaint them with the future. Instead of telling them I had five more years or six more years left, I told them I would be home when they finished seventh or eighth grade. The time frame was the same, but I felt like it didn’t sting as much.

After the dance, Aubrey goes three years without seeing her father. By this time, she is a preteen, and is even reluctant to stay till the end of the allotted visit. In front of the camera and in the eyes of the world, she has buckled under the weight of her father’s absence. Keith calls her while she is being driven home from the visit. She holds the phone away from her face, removed from their conversation, just as he has been from her life.

Another heartbreaking story is that of 10-year-old Santana, the oldest of three siblings who all live with a single mother. Santana’s anger at her father is worn on her sleeve; she speaks about her father as if she is his mother, chastising her disobedient son. The moment when Mark tries to win her friendship is excruciating to watch. His dad jokes fall flat. When the time comes to dance with him, she refuses, and walks back to her seat. Like an abandoned lover, he chases after her, only to be reprimanded for the actions that have left her scarred and abandoned—the very actions that have brought them to this dance.

The feeling of loneliness that afflicts you while incarcerated—even when you’re confined alongside thousands of others—can be immense. Daughters allows the audience to witness the trauma that this isolation wreaks on both the fathers and the daughters in real time, but it also shows the positive long-term effects that programs like this have on the family as a whole: for example, we see Mark and Frank cultivating strong relationships with their children. Without an explicit message, the film becomes a call to action, asking viewers to be part of the village that can help raise the girls, and to reconsider the stigma unfairly attached to absent fathers due to incarceration.

Aaron M. Kinzer is an author and formerly incarcerated journalist. He’s written for several outlets including The New York Times and Parents.com. He now lives in Georgia.