Annual Academy Awards buzz makes it easy to be consumed by the big names that sell blockbuster films. From the artificial intelligence scandal of “The Brutalist” to the annual Timothée Chalamet snub, media frenzy controls the Oscars race. Whether we admit it or not, we love rooting for our favorite stars and bonding over underdogs that are doomed to fail. What we forget, however, are the films that don’t fall into either category — the films that have no racist actors, no blown-up press campaigns and, subsequently, not many fans or detractors. They are made every year, and every year, Oscar viewers say, “huh, never heard of that one.” This year, “I’m Still Here” was likely the most neutral contender for the Best Picture Oscar. Yet, it is also one of the most raw and horrifically revealing films to hit theaters in a very, very long time.
The dictatorship of Brazil in the early 1970s has been mostly brushed over in the canon of Hollywood historical dramas. Amid this vast collection of overtly horrific films, “I’m Still Here” has made a big splash. At the Oscars, in addition to the film competing for Best Picture, leading actress Fernanda Torres (“The House of Sand”) was nominated for Best Actress — the very award her mother, Fernanda Montenegro, was nominated for 26 years ago. Together, the Torres women are the only two Brazilian actresses to ever receive nominations. The recognition that this film is receiving is an ode to the power of Brazilian storytelling, which seeks to honor the people oppressed by the Brazilian Armed Forces.
The film follows the true story of Rubens Paiva (Selton Mello, “A Dog’s Will”), an ex-congressman who was kidnapped and murdered in 1971 when a military dictatorship controlled the government of Brazil. Though the plot of the film centers Rubens’ disappearance, the audience watches the story through the perspective of his wife, Eunice, played by Torres, who shows the impact of this tragedy on their family.
Brazilian director Walter Salles (“Central Station”) opens the film by inviting viewers through the Paivas’ front door and into their family home in Rio de Janeiro. Teeming with life and joy, the vibrant tone of the film leaks through the seams of every shot. Salles shows the day-to-day lives of the Paiva family: lounging on the beach, relaxing with friends and roaming around their neighborhood. Each of the Paivas’ five children fills the story with energy and chaos, fitting with the image of a large, happy family. It is difficult to watch the opening without smiling at the innocence and realism of the Paivas. Yet, it is even more difficult to ignore the looming disaster, warning the audience of what is to come.
The power of “I’m Still Here” is that the whole first act, portraying the innocence and beauty of this family, feels like a countdown. Not one moment feels permanent. The first sign of trouble comes in the form of military vehicles intruding into this tropical paradise, evoking a sense of restlessness that is anything but subtle. In a moment of peace, we see Eunice swimming in the ocean, floating on her back, until a large helicopter flies by and disrupts her solace. We then see soldiers roaming the streets, receiving worried looks from Eunice.
The first act echoes the breath that the Paiva family is forced to constantly hold during the dictatorship, but it also reflects the false hope Eunice and Rubens held, convincing themselves that their lively family could avoid the cruelty of their government. In an attempt to shield their children from fear, they refuse to address the dictatorship surrounding them until it is almost too late. One day, the Paivas’ eldest teenage daughter, Vera (Valentina Herszage, “As Polacas”), goes on a drive with her friends and is forced out of her car and searched by Brazilian policemen. After this, Vera is sent to London with family friends, who are themselves fleeing Brazil, a moment which serves as the final and greatest hint of the danger to come. This marks a turning point in the narrative, when the threat of the government can no longer be ignored.
All these warning signs, however, do not make the inevitable disaster of the second act an ounce more bearable when it arrives. On Jan. 20, 1971, when the dictatorship raids the Paivas’ house and Rubens Paiva is taken under accusations of conspiracy, the audience is put in the mind of Eliana (Luiza Kosovski, “A Herança”), Rubens’ daughter, who is only 15 years old when she is taken from her home and imprisoned for 24 hours; it also puts us in the position of Eunice, who sits in that same prison for 12 days with no knowledge of her daughter or her husband’s location. While Eliana and Eunice return to their house — the one that had once let anybody through its doors — they find that Rubens never came home.
The audience is never shown the ways that Rubens was tortured and killed. Once he walks out that door, Rubens is never seen again — not by the audience, not by his vast community in Rio and not by his family. The pain lies not just in his disappearance but also in the many days that follow with no answers, leaving Eunice and the children to wonder if Rubens is ever going to return.
During the third and final act, the film jumps forward 25 years, as Eunice dedicates her life not to seeking revenge but to finding closure for the husband she lost. Due to the complex political state of Brazil, Eunice did not receive Rubens’ death certificate until a full 25 years later — 25 years to wonder if her husband was somewhere in the world, 25 years to remember their life so quickly lost. Perhaps the most telling sign of this loss is the change that has occurred in the family since that fated day. Marcelo (Antonio Saboia, “Private Desert”), the Paivas’ only son, who was only 11 in 1971, is now 37. Marcelo, who was once filled with energy running around the Paivas’ home, is now in a wheelchair and visiting his mother in her small apartment. Salles highlights these differences to emphasize what Rubens never got to witness or be a part of. Yet, he is constantly in the minds of the Paivas as they continue to honor his legacy in each of their respective careers. Standing for the resistance her husband was once reprimanded for, Eunice has become a lawyer who defends the rights of Indigenous people. Marcelo becomes one of the most notable writers in Brazil, whose work tells the story of his father’s injustice at the hands of the government.
The film jumps forward a second and final time to 2014, when Eunice is 85, surrounded by her children and grandchildren. All these years later, Rubens’ absence is still felt as she watches a television report on his disappearance, and, despite her declining health, the audience can still see the pain and yearning behind her eyes. Salles incorporates a montage of clips from 1971, when the family was still whole. The vintage style of the cinematography in these moments shows that now, the only way to view those memories is through a lens; as time progresses, memory fades, and the tragedy seems to be a lifetime ago. These moments from the past are even more profound now that the events of the film have unfolded, as Salles shows the significant amount of time that proceeds Rubens’ death, while the rest of the Paivas keep living.
“Ainda estou aqui” or “I’m Still Here” was first published as a memoir by Paiva in 2015 and was only adapted into a film this past year. “I’m Still Here” doesn’t strive for a stylistic revolution; stories like these are not meant to be experimental. There is nothing else to say except the truth. Salles takes on this responsibility with grace and tells a story that is representative of not just the Paivas’ family but of many who watched loved ones leave their houses forever in 1970. The creation of “I’m Still Here” is a reflection of Marcelo’s life’s work, honoring his father and his legacy.
While the message of perseverance is echoed at the end of the film, it does not take up much space in the picture. Instead, the film is a reflection. It is a mirror that illuminates the acknowledgment of murdered loved ones denied to Brazilian families for so long. If you are searching for a lesser-known film amid the dramatic collection of 2024 Best Picture nominees, consider immersing yourself in the world of “I’m Still Here.” You will travel back more than 50 years, then find yourself quickly back in the present, thinking of a family still feeling the absence of their father. Days later, you may find that, like me, you are still there at “I’m Still Here.”
Daily Arts Contributor Abigail Weinberg can be reached at weinab@umich.edu.
