In the documentary Daughters, a group of incarcerated fathers are warned that they are in for an “emotional rollercoaster ride.” A more accurate prediction has never been made.

In the film by Natalie Rae and Angela Patton, incarcerated fathers in a Washington, DC, penitentiary are given a rare gift: they can spend a few hours with their daughters, who range in age from 5 to 20. For an afternoon, they can be together, dancing, hugging and laughing.

For some of the girls, the program, called “Daddy Daughter Dance,” will be the first time they’ve touched their father. Others haven’t seen their father in years. In U.S. prisons, the trend is toward video calls and away from in-person “touch visits.” Even “in-person” visits often take place through plexiglass and a phone.

The unspoken question that runs through “Daughters,” which premieres Wednesday on Netflix, is: Should it be so rare for incarcerated men to have real human contact with their children? In this heartbreaking documentary, the most plaintive plea is a simple one. Whatever else they are, one of the incarcerated men says, “We’re still fathers.”

“Daughters,” a winner at the Sundance Film Festival earlier this year, first turns its attention to some of the young girls preparing for the afternoon. Aubrey, a talkative, instantly lovable five-year-old, says, “If he says he loves me, I’ll say I love him even more.” Aubrey’s father, Keith, will spend another seven years in prison, a period of time that even a five-year-old as smart as Aubrey simply cannot comprehend. She’s learning to count.

Others have more complicated feelings before the dance. Santana, 10, vows 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, didn’t hug his daughter until she was a year old. For Ja’Ana, 11, seeing her father is even rarer. Her mother didn’t want her to see her father behind bars. “I don’t remember anything about my father, nothing,” she says.

On the day of the dance, the fathers, all in suits and with a flower on their lapels, sit in a long row of seats as their daughters arrive. The filmmakers capture the moment almost like a fairy tale, with lots of light and little sound other than some music, a few cries of “Papa!” and a little muffled crying.

In a gym, fathers and daughters play and dance. Some have great fun. Others realize that the gap between them cannot be bridged in a day. When it is time for the daughters to go home and the fathers to return to their cells, the farewell is inevitably devastating. Before the girls leave, the fathers sign a pledge that they will live. In the 12 years of the program, 95% of the participating fathers do not go back to prison.

We were lucky enough to see two wonderfully insightful films this summer about the lives of prisoners and their possible paths to redemption: Daughters and the recent, based-on-a-true drama Sing Sing. In Daughters, the dialogue surrounding the dance also prompts reflection on the upbringing of prisoners and the cycle of parentlessness that can span generations.

Time is the fundamental measure of prison life, which is why a documentary like “Daughters,” shot over the course of years, can capture the passing of prison life in a unique, perhaps even outrageous way. As much of an emotional roller coaster as “Daughters” can be, there is no preparing you for the film’s painful epilogue years later. Aubrey is now 8. She hasn’t seen her father since the dance. When she is finally allowed to visit her father, she doesn’t recognize him through the plexiglass. On the drive home, Aubrey no longer looks like the bundle of optimism she was at 5. Don’t be fooled. 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 out of four stars.