I just watched the new drama, Notice To Quit, the latest release from Whiskey Creek. It starts off as a 10 year old is looking at something for the zoo that someone is defacing. Where does it go from there?

Check out the trailer below, then read on for my thoughts.

Synopsis

Andy Singer, a struggling New York City realtor caught in the cycle of renting rundown apartments, finds his world crashing down around him when his estranged 10-year-old daughter, Anna, shows up unannounced on his doorstep in the middle of his eviction.

Simon Hacker wrote and directed the film. It stars Michael Zegen (The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel), Kasey Bella Suarez (Your Monster), Isabel Arraiza (Outer Range), Michael Angelo Covino (The Climb), Eric Berryman (Atlanta), Victor Verhaeghe (For Life), Nell Verlaque (Big Shot), and Rose Jackson Smith (The Girls on the Bus),

Here’s a look at the poster art!

My Thoughts

Here are my thoughts about this film. I really liked it. It’s a heartwarming film about a dad and his daughter. The dad in the film at first only thinks about his job until his daughter pays him a visit. When his daughter arrives, through  trial and error, he learns what’s it like to be a parent.

I believe they could have expended on the girl’s story as it mainly focuses on the father and not so much on the people around them.  I think if they expended on that, it would help add a new dimension to the film. Regardless, it definitely tugs at your heart strings.

The sound quality is good and the cast is fantastic. In one scene they have a protest which symbolizes the importance of family, since the father and mother are separated. That struck a chord with me.

Final Thoughts

If you like a heartwarming feelgood story with drama mixed in, you will like this movie. I recommend bringing some tissues. You are going to need them. One minute you are happy the next minute you are sad. You will laugh your pants off during certain parts of this movie and you will not be disappointed.

Notice To Quit premiered exclusively in theaters Friday September 27th.

Warning: the following contains major spoilers from the Season 3 finale of “Industry.”

After an interminable game of “Will They/Won’t They?,” “Industry” fans finally got an answer about Yasmin and Robert’s fate on Sunday night.

Bench sex be damned, these two will decidedly not be ending up together.

Yasmin stomped all over Rob’s poor little heart during Sunday’s Season 3 finale, revealing in brutal fashion that mere hours after being intimate with him for the first time, she’d gotten engaged to another man. Perhaps Rob (Harry Lawtey) never really stood a chance against the wealthy Henry (Kit Harington), especially now that Yasmin (Marisa Abela) is broke. Still, after she uttered “I love you” to Rob — the only time in her life she’d ever said the three words — we thought there was a sliver of hope for the HBO series’ resident sweethearts.

Alas, this is “Industry.” Expecting anyone to live according to a moral compass is foolhardy.

But let’s hear Abela and Lawtey break it all down themselves. Over a video chat from their native United Kingdom last week, the actors weighed in on their characters’ romance, Rob’s sexuality and how the hell this show will work next season if all of the Pierpoint vets are in different cities. (The conversation has been edited and condensed for clarity.)

First of all: Marisa, how could Yasmin do this to Robert?!

Abela: I kind of saw it coming, to be honest. I think that it’s the only decision she could have made in that moment. One choice she’s making is a choice that has a future attached to it — a future that she can understand that has security. And the other is to go back to London with Rob with no job, no finances, no protection against this onslaught of media attention that she’s been having to deal with. I think it’s quite a clear choice, actually, for someone like Yasmin.

Also, if you watch Episode 7, I don’t think they make that much sense together. They’re arguing 90% of the time. I think Yasmin feels like she’s disappointing Robert a lot. She’s not kind enough, gentle enough, patient enough. And I think Robert feels like he’s not impressive enough in what he’s offering her. They’re letting each other down, and that’s not a fun way to feel. Whereas Henry, although he doesn’t necessarily see her how she wants to be seen or cradle her emotionally, he doesn’t expect anything more from her than what she can give him. It’s a sort of business decision at the end of the day. I think that if she’d just come off two days in Wales with Robert that were blissful and beautiful and perfect, she’d have made that decision, but it wasn’t really clicking.

It was clicking sexually!

Abela: Yes, exactly. They had this great sex. They told each other they loved each other, which I think they do in that moment, at least. But I think for Yasmin it’s just not enough. She has a lot on her plate back in London. She doesn’t have a home, a family. It would be a lot of pressure on Robert to put up with that. Imagine the opposite. They drive away from this big house together, and they go back to Finsbury Park and we watch them, like, make dinner that night or order a delivery that night. What does Yasmin do next? Other than feel like she’s with someone that she loves. I think we’re forgetting that we’re talking about Yasmin here. She’s brutal. Feeling the warm and cozy thing is not at the top of her list.

The sex that Robert and Yasmin have is kind of the most beautiful thing about their relationship. It’s simple and it’s tender and it’s intimate, you know, compared to pissing on someone in the shower.

Both of your characters are sexually open. Harry, do you think there is a world where Rob is bisexual?

Lawtey: Fundamentally, yes. That’s always been part of the conversation that me and the boys have had since the first season. And there are scenes that never made it to the edit that explored that slightly more.

The show is a coming-of-age story. They’re in these evolving years in their lives and they’re being put into these awkward, intense, claustrophobic situations as part of this big ecosystem, which they’re kind of designed to serve. And yet, at the same time, they’re trying to carve out personality within that. And of course, their sexual lives and identities certainly intersect with all of that. The show has always treated that as character work and development. They all kind of surprise one another, and they’re all open because they live such a radical lifestyle.

Abela: They’re dealing with large sums of money every day, long hours, huge stakes. These things kind of lend themselves to wanting to throw themselves into things with more abandon than a normal person. They’re all becoming more and more desensitized, so they’re more desperate to try something that’s going to stimulate them sexually or emotionally in their relationships. In Season 1, Yasmin was shocking herself with the things that she was asking people to do for her. And now it’s more sort of like, “Am I willing to go there with him? Yeah, maybe. Why not? Let’s see how it goes.”

I think fans shipped Yas and Rob because they always seemed like the two characters who had the softest centers in this harsh environment. But in the finale, Yasmin shows a brutality I didn’t know she had in her.

Abela: In terms of an audience wanting Yasmin to sit Robert down and tell him that she got engaged? I think she’s scared to do that. I don’t think it comes out of malice. Like, she’s not trying to humiliate him at the table. I think it would be a terrifying conversation for her to have with him, and I don’t think she’s capable of having it.

I definitely think that she’s gotten harder throughout the seasons. I agree that one of the things that brought her and Rob together in the past was that, compared to Harper [played by Myha’la], she had a sort of gooey center. She wasn’t as blindly driven by success. But Yasmin and Harper have become more and more similar as the seasons have gone on because Yasmin’s situation in life has become more desperate. Survival is No. 1 on her list now.

Abela, seen here with Kit Harington, says she doesn’t think Yasmin was “capable” of having the “terrifying conversation” where she admitted to Rob she was engaged.

(Simon Ridgway / HBO)

Lawtey: This is also a testament to how little we actually know [about the plot], because there was a certain point in Season 3 where we were taking bets on what we thought might happen for [Robert and Yasmin] at the end of the season. Naturally, I was slightly more hopeful, of course.

Where we find them in Season 3, there’s enough texture and integrity that they do love each other and see one another authentically for who they are — almost the way they wish to be seen, if they weren’t up against all these different challenges in their little universe. But ultimately, do they pound for pound make one another happy each day? Is that kind of connection sustainable? Maybe not.

Yasmin is in this bind where she’s forced into making a very practical choice that serves her. You can’t judge that, necessarily. And I think it’s fundamentally because Robert knows her, he gets it and accepts it pretty quickly in relation to how devastated he is. The speed with which he gathers himself is unlike Rob, but it’s because he knows that there’s a sliver of a world where this is wonderful and brilliant — but it’s a long shot. If anything, the ending of this season is a springboard for Robert to go and rediscover himself and try to recapture a part of him that has gone missing.

He does already kind of seem over it by the time he says goodbye to her in the driveway.

Lawtey: He knows her and he knows the system now. This season is a final look behind the curtain for Robert, socially and politically and professionally. He is coming to grips, finally, with the structure of how things operate and his place within that structure. Without being too cruel to himself, he’s accepted that ultimately, he’s not made for this world. And Yasmin is. And that’s where they have to part. It was a pipe dream, I think, their relationship. One that he believed in fervently for a minute. That scene that they have together by the lake, that’s kind of like a little window into that. But it’s a bit of a dream. I don’t think it would be like that.

Everyone in the show at Pierpoint has to ask themselves, “Why do I come to work? Why do I show up here? What do I get from this?” And I think almost all of those questions have been answered for Rob, apart from Yasmin. This is the final untethering for him. And so it’s very freeing. “Oh, I can just go and build my own life now, and I can try to be happy again.” He’s spent far too long for the last couple of years being sad.

“This is the final untethering for him,” Lawtey says of his character. “He’s spent far too long for the last couple of years being sad.”

(Nick Strasburg / HBO)

And Yasmin is left behind at this mansion. Is she really cut out to be a housewife in the English countryside?

Abela: I don’t think she’s cut out to sit idly by and be someone’s wife. But I don’t think that Henry’s gonna ask that of her, either. I don’t think that it’s gonna be a conventional marriage [Laughs]. I just get the feeling that neither of them really need that from the other one. I’m sure she’ll be up and down from London.

But I don’t think Yasmin should have ever been an investment banker. This season, so many traumatic events happen to her and I still think that Yasmin looks the most lost when she’s on the desk. I think that she looks far more comfortable on a boat, even after her father has just jumped overboard. She’s really a talented manipulator, and she’ll find a way of using that to her advantage.

I’m so glad that the show got renewed, especially because the showrunners really wrapped so many storylines up with a bow that I feared Season 3 would be the end of “Industry.” Did you ever worry about that?

Lawtey: With Mickey [Down] and Konrad [Kay, the showrunners], they always have this really exciting notion of just burning their best ideas and challenging themselves to come up with something interesting and dynamic and brave. They’ll always run it and see if they can write themselves out of that corner. So I never really second guess the direction they’re going in, because they always have something up their sleeves. They don’t save anything for final episodes or whatever. As we’ve seen from a few points of the season, no one’s ever really dead, either. They make the most of every inch of the characters in this show.

Abela: It does feel like an end of a chapter for all of them. But, you know, I kind of felt the same at the end of Season 2 with Harper leaving the bank. Season 1 was all about Harper’s relationship to Pierpoint. If they were going to keep going with “Industry,” it didn’t feel that tethered to Pierpoint anymore. These characters were sort of bursting out of that establishment.

Can you imagine an “Industry” where Yas is in England, Rob is in San Francisco, Harper is in New York, etc.?

Abela: I guess they’re probably not all in the same workplace. I don’t know where they’ll be.

Lawtey: Their lives are rapidly becoming broader, as is the general scope and scale of the show. I think it’s fair to say that in this season, the boys started taking much bigger swings in the tone and style and the landscape of the show, and I think that really suits the characters and their development. Those channels to one another are still going to be there, but they’re being stretched and pushed into different shapes. Which is exciting for us, to keep on having to rethink and recontextualize the way in which these people relate to one another.

The cast went to watch Ken Leung film the final scene of Episode 3 where he took a baseball bat to the Pierpoint offices.

(Simon Ridgway / HBO)

Was there any sadness in saying goodbye to the Pierpoint set?

Abela: You do get a little bit sentimental about this fake building that you sort of grew up. If we were sad about saying goodbye to it, it was more about saying goodbye to the season and what the end of a Season 3 meant. The show means a lot to us, and we as people, I think, mean a lot to each other. And so we all went down and watched the final scene with Ken [Leung, who plays Eric] swinging that bat around. It just kind of felt like a moment. We all kind of grew up in that mini trailer park.

Lawtey: It was like a really special thing to go and see Ken and send off that space for us. It does feel like a home, in a way, creatively. In the picture of our careers as actors, that represents HQ. The building where the trading floor was, they never took it down even in the long gaps between seasons. So, yeah, it was a strange thing to walk away from. When I think of that room, I think of the ensemble of the show. It’s been a collective and a community of people that has kind of revolved, but there’s been a nucleus that has stayed the same. And the home for those people is that space. We just had a lot of laughs there and some brilliant times. I was chatting to Ken the other day, and he said this season signifies the closing of a circle. And now you’ve just got to open a new circle, I think.

By David D’Arcy

Two closely watched films in Toronto were dark dramas that couldn’t have been more different.

Who outside of Norway remembers Vidkun Quisling today? Maybe historians and students of the Second World War. Quisling (1887-1945) was prime minister of Norway during the German occupation, a gruff enforcer for the Nazis whose name became synonymous with collaborator.

Quisling’s rule was harsh, just what the Nazis wanted. Norway deported a thousand Jews to camps in Poland. Not so many, compared to the horrific broader picture, but only 12 of them returned. Quisling – The Final Days, picks up the narrative when the Germans surrender in May 1945 and the puppet prime minister, who expected to be treated with the respect befitting his office, is arrested. A young Lutheran pastor, Peder Olsen (Andres Danielsen Lie), is assigned to minister to Quisling (Gard B. Eidsvold) in prison after the church’s primate refuses the task. Erik Poppe’s gripping film, adapted from diaries kept by Olsen and his wife, takes us from the traitor’s loud assertions of patriotism, to a court’s judgment, to his execution by a firing squad. It’s a grim study of denial and defeat.

“Surely there must be some civilized people left in this country,” a baffled Quisling pleads before turning himself in, “you’re calling me a criminal ….. I’ve worked so hard for this country.” So much for remorse.

Eidsvold plays the man who led occupied Norway under Hitler as smug and certain in his politics. Even when the Germans surrender, the leader who met with Hitler as late as January 1945 is shocked when he’s put in handcuffs. Locked in a prison cell before his trial, he finds his spiritual future placed in the hands of the pious young Olsen, who is sworn to secrecy about counseling the collaborator. Like any tyrant, Quisling is angry and impatient. Struggling to sleep on his cot, he asks the young guard attending to him to switch the bright light off. The guard turns it off and back on again, an everyman’s expression of the country’s loathing for the thug claiming to be a misunderstood patriot, now brought down to size.

At every step, caged and scorned, Eidsvold brings rage, but also an unexpected subtlety, to the role of his country’s official bully. Not to give too much away, but the final third of the film takes place almost entirely in the condemned man’s cell, where pride battles with a stark begrudging recognition of mortality. We watch this struggle in relentless closeups. Poppe doesn’t flinch from showing the final moments of those final days.

Norway tends to focus on the underground heroism of some brave citizens rather than the many who collaborated during the wartime Quisling years. There’s still nothing revisionist here about Quisling’s crimes. But questions arise as we watch the man try to come to terms with himself with the help of Olsen the clergyman. Attempting to get the former strong man to open up, Olsen admits that there were moments during the just-ended war when he himself was less than admirable, a confession that the self-satisfied Quisling is willing to accept. But that’s about as far as kinship goes between a minister who endured the occupation and the traitor who presided over it.

Then there is the parallel to European politics today, where reactionary extremists are applauded, not punished, and court their counterparts on the American Right.

Those autocrats are not the simple stooges of foreign enemies, except in Putin-dependent Belarus (and in Ukraine before 2014). Yet in Quisling’s claims of being persecuted and misunderstood, and in his constant lies about serving Norway while following orders from Berlin, we find the same pattern of lying in the palaver of those would-be strong men close to home today. In our case, a leader who has already threatened to punish those who stood in his way after the last election – including Jews who vote against him this time – may not need an occupying army to install him back into power.

It’s a sobering prospect to consider, after watching scenes in which a country exults in the downfall of a tyrant.

A scene from April. Photo: TIFF

The politics in Georgian director Dea Kulumbegashvili’s April lurch backward and forward through a bleak and cryptically symbolic drama that explores the risks and the stigma of abortion in rural Georgia (the former Soviet republic). And there’s a lot more than politics in this sometimes inscrutable film.

The deadpan Nina (Ia Sukhitashvili) is an obstetrician who supplements her income performing abortions in the countryside, a foreboding expanse which we encounter mostly in the dark. Think of the shadowy emptiness of a place haunted by visions worthy of Bela Tarr, and then place a pregnant patient there whose medical history is unknown and who forbids any emergency surgery. It is a recipe for things to go wrong. A baby is still-born under those conditions to a woman who refuses to have a cesarean section. Nina is forced to defend herself against accusations by the mother’s angry husband and by superiors at her daytime hospital job. Abortion may be legal in Georgia, but it is culturally taboo in much of the country.

This parable about the sufferings of women in a male-dominated culture and the plight of women who try to help them is unnerving in its fatalism. The action — if that’s the right word — moves at a creeping pace, another Tarr trademark. April can feel like a horror film without a monster. Yet Kulumbegashvili gives us a figure – a character? – thats monstrous enough. That presence is a humanoid shape with reptilian textures that slinks around – an observer of injustices, a witness of rural horrors, a victim, a conscience?

If this odd figure in cutaway shots defies explanation, other elements in this film of chilling visuals come off as clear as an anthropologist’s journal. Women stuck in village life are doomed to be pregnant most of the time, and the culture is so closed that medicine isn’t given the opportunity  to help them. April will be praised for the staggering power of its images which appear like bumps in the road on which Nina drives her car in the dark. That said, the jostling arrhythmia of the director’s picaresque storytelling (plus the spectral creature) suggest that what we have here are parts of a whole that’s still in pursuit of a style. The film feels like a work in progress – imaginative and improvised — akin to the medical procedures that the film depicts with so much uneasiness. Like the patients in April, audiences who can bear the experience will be grateful to receive what help Kulumbegashvili provides.

David D’Arcy lives in New York. For years, he was a programmer for the Haifa International Film Festival in Israel. He writes about art for many publications, including the Art Newspaper. He produced and co-wrote the documentary Portrait of Wally (2012), about the fight over a Nazi-looted painting found at the Museum of Modern Art in Manhattan.