Movie Review
‘I’m Still Here’ Is a Hell of a Showcase for a Brazilian Star
Beloved actor Fernanda Torres breathes life into the role of a grieving woman living under a military dictatorship in this politically charged drama
Established via a coup in 1964, the Fifth Brazilian Republic had been in place for close to seven years when government officials showed up at the house of Rubens Paiva. He had been a former Congressman who’d been vocal about the regime change back in the day, but Paiva was out of politics now and working as an engineer in Rio de Janeiro. Still, the men had some questions for him in regard to leftist groups who may or may not have been involved with a recent kidnapping. They asked him to accompany them back to a local police station. It was all completely routine, they assured him. Paiva changed into a suit and tie, said goodbye to his wife, and drove off with the officials. His family never saw him again.
I’m Still Here, Brazilian director Walter Salles’ politically charged drama, re-creates this moment with a casual sense of detachment, rather than leading the audience by the nose to the necessary emotional response — even if you don’t know the Paivas’ story, you immediately sense that something devastating is occurring right in front of your eyes. There is no need to goose anything. By the time Rubens (Selton Mello) is led out of his house some 30 minutes into the film, we’ve already spent a lot of time with him, his wife, Eunice (Fernanda Torres), and their brood of happy, Chaos-Muppet children. The affectionate couple entertain guests at their lovely home, share big meals and beach days with the kids, send their eldest daughter, Vera (Valentina Herszage), to live with friends in London, dance enthusiastically to Tropicália tunes in their front room. Their life is good, until it is interrupted by strangers knocking on their door and immediately establish a binary. There is a before, and there is now an after.
A huge hit in its native country and a likely Oscar nominee on several fronts — one category in particular — I’m Still Here wisely lets you know what’s at stake here by taking its time in the lead up to the tragedy, and giving you an incredible sense of the disruption that happens when political violence literally arrives at your doorstep. But the movie also lets you know who the focal point of this story is, and the way a junta’s rule steadily normalizes the slow tightening of nooses, early on. An opening disclaimer sets the scene: Rio, 1970, “under military dictatorship.” The first person we see is Eunice, floating on her back in the ocean and enjoying a sunny afternoon. The first thing we hear is the sound of an army helicopter noisily passing above her, intruding upon her reverie. Later, as the family take a picture together, Eunice suddenly looks past the camera and into the distance. She notices several trucks full of troops passing by in the street. Her smile falters. The Paivas are still here, and the trucks are way, way over there. For now.
Editor’s picks
Viewers unfamiliar with the full scope of what happened under that dark period in Brazil‘s history will get a crash-course primer — and given the way that the country’s current powers that be have expressed “nostalgia” for those days of oppressive military rule, it’s a necessary reminder for everyone of how the “good old days” can be so easily weaponized. The big takeaway for most folks, however, will arguably be an introduction to the actor at the center of all of this. Fernanda Torres is one part movie star and three parts national treasure in Brazil, a major talent who comes from a show business legacy; her mother is Fernanda Montenegro, an equally beloved icon who was the first Brazilian performer to be nominated for a Best Actress Oscar thanks to her role in 1998’s Central Station.
(Trivia lovers, take note: That earlier film was also directed by Salles, and while Montenegro didn’t win the Academy Award, she did nab a Golden Globe — the exact same award that Torres herself just won for I’m Still Here a few weeks ago. And Montenegro herself shows up in a coda to play Eunice as an elderly woman.)
To say that Torres digs into the role of Eunice Paiva, who spent a good deal of her life trying to demand accountability for her husband’s disappearance, would be an understatement. This is a showcase for her as much as it is a based-on-a-true-story prestige drama, though it respects both the enormity and the emotional weight of the IRL Paiva’s experience. But it’s the sort of role that allows someone of her caliber to play the scales, and gives Torres the chance to honor a public figure who doubled as a resistance fighter (Rubens’ disappearance made international headlines); who was a mother that both cared for her children and did her best to shelter them from the personal loss and bigger-picture storm; who has her mettle tested when she and her daughter, Eliana (Luiza Kosovski), are also brought in for an interrogation, and Eunice is then detained for almost a week; who sacrifices everything in the name of family and finding out what happened after her spouse waved goodbye.
And later, in the first of two flash-forwards, Torres gets to show you what happens when the closure you’ve been searching for decades finally, inevitably arrives. What’s remarkable is how she never overplays anything, or goes for easy histrionics and rending of garments even when the movie itself becomes heavy-handed in the back half. It’s such a remarkably nuanced performance, and whether it secures Torres a Best Actress Oscar nomination to match her mother’s or not is beside the point. Yes, it will ensure more eyes on what might have been a film that, while a massive hit in Brazil, might have faded into the white-noise background that characterizes the gold-rush mania of these early winter months. But I’m Still Here is a testament to Torres regardless. Attention has already been paid back home to the amazing work she’s doing in this moving, stirring ode to life during a dictatorship, one that feels more present than one might be comfortable with. She deserves praise from everyone.