By Felix Glanville, Second Year, History
During the frenzy of awards season as films fell subject to criticism for being too dry like The Brutalist, nonsensical like The Substance, or bad in practically every department possible like Emilia Peréz, it was I'm Still Here and its lead actress Fernanda Torres that remained lauded with love and appreciation. It is absolutely clear why.
The film takes audiences on a deeply visceral journey of Brazil's military regime in the 1970s, as Eunice Paiva (Fernanda Torres) comes to live with the forced disappearance of her husband, Reuben (Selton Mello) as she grapples being a strong mother for her numerous children during this crisis, while also leading an investigation into the kidnapping, that ultimately ends with the painful news of his death. It is only decades later, that Eunice is given an official death certificate for her husband, as she has become a spokesperson for justice and democracy– triggered by the myriad of lawlessness that permeated her own life in Rio de Janeiro. Family and personal sacrifice are baked into Torres' gut-wrenching performance, as Salles reveals the strength of memory; embracing good times even in a climate of socio-political darkness.
The Brazil we see in I'm Still Here is a deeply fractured one, from the film's opening quarter a sense of impeding doom is placed on the joyous Paiva family. Director Walter Salles' euphemistic colouring is brilliantly executed. Scenes of the family enjoying Rio's golden coastline are scattered with brief moments of quiet caution: Mello's characters Rubens is only seen on his own before his disappearance when answering dubious phone calls, as one of their daughters, Vera (Valentina Herszage), experiences a military search of her friends' car. Salles plants the seeds of desperation early on and makes Eunice and Vera's imprisonment all the more unsettling. Eunice's return from incarceration is frankly a scene that mere description cannot do justice, there is no dialogue or sound, but it feels as though a thousand cries are released onto you as Torres is both physically and emotionally frail from her forced rendition and interrogation.
The cinematography of the film colours the family in a spectrum of emotion as events of the regime descend onto Eunice, gradually more cold as the film progresses, juxtaposed by Torres' trying to remain a hopeful light for her children. The inclusion of home footage from a vintage camera of the age, used by one of the other daughters is a welcome touch with the family's happiest memories and moments being captured in front of our eyes. In fact, Salles plays a lot with photography and recording– it is a way for Eunice to deal with her husbands loss, as the film became much more about the real and ordinary. I no longer felt there were actors in the Paiva household, but neighbours and friends.
The only moment of slight superficiality was with the film's last fifteen minutes– ending with Eunice and her now adult children in 2014. Whilst this continued to emphasise the importance of family tradition, it did negatively impact the emotional weight of the story as Eunice was now much older and relegated to the background of the story. Her conclusion in the 1990s in receiving the death certificate and national apology seemed the more fitting ending, with Eunice gaining authority in her loss and felt, to me, more impactful.
But this is only a minor critique. Fernanda Torres' performance is exceptional as it is effortlessly real. She becomes this fiercely powerful woman leading her family and helping the investigators, yet throughout the film's entirety remained deeply vulnerable. Her achievement as the leading force of I'm Still Here is perfectly captured in her ability to display an inferno of internal paranoia, while showing nothing at all to her children– it was painfully tragic. The film did not feel like a biopic of Eunice, but an emotional deep dive into dealing with hardship, Torres serving as both activist and friend to the audience. Torres' did not need the Oscar to affirm just how good of a performance she gave, the Brazilian public designated her as their hero.
The social and political importance of the film cannot be understated for viewers in Brazil. It reminds those of oppressive times that plagued the state from 1964 to 1985, while being a chilling tale that does not differ to the recent premiership of Bolsonaro from 2019-2022. Salles' film has been seen by Brazilians as a symbol for the power of democracy and strength of community in the country– a potent message they want to get across to audiences in the United States as the nation is undergoing a sharp shift to the right and breakdown in partisanship.
Torres too is a much adored star in Brazil, and the success of her in the major awards such as the Golden Globes and Oscars consolidate her place as one of Brazil's great stars. Honestly, I see this film becoming a staple watch for the indie genre in the future, and memorialised in history as an international success story for Brazil's film industry. The film represents the corruption present in any nation, but taps more into how individuals cope with crisis and trauma while trying to maintain a level of normality.
Have you seen the love for I'm Still Here and has it convinced you to see it?
