Natalie D.C.
An exploration of memory, grief, and anti-fascism, Brazilian filmmaker Walter Salles’s I’m Still Here follows the Paiva family—Eunice (Fernanda Torres), Rubens (Selton Mello), and their five children—during the Brazilian military dictatorship, an event that leads to the forced disappearance of Rubens, changing his entire family forever. Based on the true story told by the real-life Rubens Paiva’s son, Marcelo Rubens Paiva, in the latter’s 2015 memoir Ainda Estou Aqui, this film expertly depicts a happy family’s life marred by the violent actions of a fascist government.
To start, Brazilian actress Fernanda Torres’s star performance in I’m Still Here has been praised internationally for her outstanding portrayal of grief-stricken wife, mother, lawyer, and human rights activist Eunice Paiva; so far, Torres’s performance has earned her a Critics Choice Award for Best Actress in an International Film as well as a nomination for Best Actress in a Drama Motion Picture at the Golden Globe Awards. Furthermore, Torres’s mother, the renowned stage, TV, and film actress Fernanda Montenegro gives a brief, yet equally incredible, performance as the older Eunice Paiva in the very last—and arguably most heartbreaking—scenes of the film. Finally, Selton Mello’s quiet performance of husband, father, civil engineer, and politician Rubens Paiva, while cut short, demonstrates—alongside his counterparts of Torres and Montenegro—a series of careful casting decisions made for an important story.
The first act of I’m Still Here features warm, nostalgic cinematography by Brazilian director of photography Adrian Teijido that juxtaposes sharply against its second act’s depiction of dark subject matter including (but not limited to) authoritarianism, imprisonment, and death. In addition, the film’s over-two-hour runtime is beautifully paced by the attentive efforts of Brazilian-American editor Affonso Gonçalves (whose previous work ranges from Jim Jarmusch’s Only Lovers Left Alive to Olivia Wilde’s Don’t Worry Darling), making the film a breeze to sit through as the viewer bathes in the Paiva family’s calm before the storm and, later, anxiously wait to hear of Rubens’s—and the rest of the family’s—dreaded fates.
Not all the themes explored in this film are grim, however: one, in fact, is downright hopeful. I’m Still Here’s discussion of memory is particularly poignant through its spotlighting of motifs such as letters, photographs, and film itself. Towards the beginning of the film, Eunice and Rubens send their eldest daughter, Vera (Valentina Herszage), to live abroad in London with family friends fleeing the looming military occupation. During her months away, Vera sends word to the Paiva family in the form of letters and film; in fact, two important—and emotionally gripping—scenes are dedicated to the family reading about and watching her adventures in London.
Furthermore, the written word, in a way, is what sets I’m Still Here‘s entire plot into motion as it is Rubens Paiva’s deliverance of correspondences between members of the left-wing resistance that seemingly leads to his arrest and disappearance by Brazilian military forces. To mirror this reality, written testimonials are how Eunice Paiva, throughout the latter half of the film, attempts to locate her missing husband as well as tell her and her family’s story.
Photographs are a huge part of this documentation as well in I’m Still Here. One iconic scene depicting Eunice and her children posing and smiling—the latter much to the dismay of the reporter who makes a point of asking for a more somber portrait—for a major newspaper whose story ultimately helps launch the Paiva family’s plight into the international spotlight. Photographs and their visual capturing of a moment frozen in time remain an important motif years after Rubens’s disappearance. The film features many shots of photographs taken of Eunice and her children as the years without her husband and their father go by. Towards the end of the film, there is a heartwarming moment of Eunice taking a photograph with two of her now-grown children, one of whom being Marcelo Rubens Paiva (Antonio Saboia), the man who will go on to tell his family’s story via—you guessed it—the written word.
This scene—alongside many others during which the Paiva family write letters, take photos, and film home videos—furthers this film’s goal of telling a family’s story of perseverance in the face of violence committed by a fascist government through mediums that capture moments and, in turn, memories. Memories of an imperfect, loving, normal family ripped apart by a tragedy carried out by authoritarian forces. Walter Salles’s I’m Still Here is a testament of memory’s power in telling the stories of those resisting systemic injustices. In a time when fascism refuses to die, this film’s story is much too important not to be seen, lest we fail to learn from the horrific mistakes of the past.
