“His Three Daughters” is an awards-bait drama about three quarreling adult children gathered for a death watch for their father. A drama-savvy reader will recognize that as the plot to Anton Chekhov’s “Three Sisters,” even if the writer-director doesn’t credit that classic as his inspiration.

Compact, almost claustrophobic in its setting, the size of the cast and the myopic scope of the drama, it’s theatrical, made for theater.

Characters talk at each other more than they talk TO one another — soliloquizing, taking deep breathes and launching into long anecdotes about Dad, their lives since growing up in his New York home and of course, their grievances with one another.

But while the power trio at the heart of the piece, Carrie Coon, Natasha Lyonne and Elizabeth Olsen, play variations on character “types” — the shrill, brittle and OCD “organized” sister Katie (Coon), the weepy, touchy-feely, not-quite dizzy youngest Christina (Olsen) and the oldest, a slacker/stoner “professional” gambler, Rachel (Lyonne) — can impress and serve up shades of subtlety, it’s a dry and dry-eyed journey through a beloved parent’s last days.

Katie’s first impression is the one that sticks — a woman on edge and in charge, not just keeping it together but staying on task, one task that she obsesses over between backbiting about sister Rachel and testy calls with an unruly teen back home.

“Back home” is across town, “town” being New York City. Katie lives a few boroughs away, close enough to have visited before their Dad (unseen until the film’s finale) a lot before he entered hospice care. Did she?

“The past is the past,” she sermonizes. But it isn’t. As irked as she is about the present, she has an endless succession of bones to pick with Rachel, whom we gather is the oldest, a “leeching, broke-ass f—–g punk” pothead set to inherit the rent-controlled apartment.

Christina lives far away, has a pre-school daughter she Facetimes with at night and when she isn’t sharing airy fairy idylls about motherhood, she’s taking on her “shifts” sitting with Dad, and more than her share of the actual mourning going on.

Rachel isn’t taking “shifts.” She was their father’s caregiver for years, knows how often or how little the other two have visited and works at her obsession — sports gambling, “parlays” involving a collection of long shots, something she may have shared or learned from their working class father.

Katie’s situational obsession is the fact that their father didn’t sign a “DNR,” a do-not-resuscitate” request. Christina’s is “I think you should go a bit easier on (Rachel).” And Rachel’s is just getting through every not-wholly-aimless day, surviving this “sister” time, and not interrupting her life of lighting-up, placing bets and watching games with her beau Benjy (Jovan Adepo).

The script’s arch tendency towards speeches is thrown ino sharpest relief by the ironically-named “Angel” (Rudy Galvan), the hospice worker whose every word is an all-knowing pronouncement o finality. He is trying to keep the trio on task, letting them know when their father is losing his connection to the world and that it’s time to “say anything that you feel must be said.”

The sisters get as irritated with him as we do.

There are fantasy grace notes in the third act, but mostly “His Three Daughters” is a soapy, predictable “family” rift, Chekhov’s “Three Sisters” rendered in modernized Oscar-bait strokes.

Our three leads are good, with Lyonne giving us subtle moments that lift her character above caricature, Olsen’s West Coast “feeling” backed by an enviable level-headedness and Coon’s shrill martinet occasionally humanized.

But there is nothing here that comes close to touching the heart, and no attempts at “Terms of Endearment” tears or grappling with the growing sense of loss that aching dramas from “Amour” and “Departures” to “Biutiful” managed.

It’s set up the way Chekhov’s play is traditionally-mounted these days, as an actor’s showcase. That’s just not enough to put “His Three Daughters” over.

Rating: R, drug and alcohol abuse, profanity

Cast: Natasha Lyonne, Carrie Coon and Elizabeth Olsen

Credits: Scripted and directed by Azazel Jacobs. A Netflix release.

Running time: 1:41