Lúcio Reis Filho
Dungeons & Dragons holds a sacred place for the Brazilians who grew up glued to the TV in the ‘90s. The cultural weight of this animated pop phenomenon serves as the driving force behind The Last Episode (O Último Episódio, 2025), the most recent feature from the acclaimed Brazilian production house Filmes de Plástico. More than just a movie, it’s a tribute to a generation’s collective memory and a simpler life before the digital revolution.
Directed by Maurílio Martins—who co-wrote the script with Thiago Macêdo Correia—the film follows the coming-of-age journey of Erik (Matheus Sampaio), a 13-year-old living an ordinary life in the early ’90s until he falls for Sheila (Lara Silva), the new girl in school. In an attempt to impress her, Erik claims to own the unthinkable: a VHS tape containing the legendary, never-produced final episode of the Dungeons & Dragons animated series. Once the lie is out there, there’s no turning back, and the boy finds himself in a race against time to maintain the charade, relying on his best friends to pull off the impossible.
Growing up in ‘90s Brazil meant navigating school, playing in the streets, and spending any free time in front of the TV—if you were lucky enough to own one—all while the country grappled with the staggering social inequality of the decade. At the time, children’s programming was a mix of classics like Woody Woodpecker and Looney Tunes, ‘80s hits like He-Man and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and fresh “must-watch” sensations like Saint Seiya (Knights of the Zodiac), which became a national fever. Among them, the story of six teenagers who pass through an interdimensional portal at an amusement park and emerge in a fantasy world, geared up as RPG characters, became an absolute ratings powerhouse. More than just a hit, however, it evolved into a true cult phenomenon over the years.
Originally released by CBS in 1983 as a collaboration between Marvel Productions, D&D Corp., TSR Entertainment, and Toei Animation, Dungeons & Dragons made its way to Brazil in 1985. Based on the tabletop RPG of the same name, the animated series became a morning staple on the broadcast giant Rede Globo. Curiously, the network rarely aired the pilot, and since the series was abruptly canceled by CBS that same year without a proper finale, episodes were often broadcast out of order. This narrative chaos hardly mattered at the time; it perfectly matched the “syndicated” style of TV content produced in the ‘80s and ‘90s, where continuity was often an afterthought.
Constant reruns well into the 2000s cemented Dungeons & Dragons as an inseparable part of the Brazilian childhood experience. In the absence of a finale, fans began weaving elaborate urban legends: that the characters were actually dead all along, the Realm was, in fact, Hell, and the Devil himself would manifest as either Venger or the Dungeon Master to toy with the heroes. This aura of mystery and the endless speculation surrounding that narrative void undoubtedly helped solidify the show’s legendary cult status—a phenomenon celebrated in 2019 through a viral live-action commercial for Renault, produced by the Brazilian advertising agency DPZ&T. More recently, the franchise’s enduring relevance was further reaffirmed by the global success of Paramount’s Dungeons & Dragons: Honor Among Thieves (2023).
The Last Episode transports the viewer—especially those born between the late ‘80s and the early 2000s—back to the dangerous, yet comforting, realm of childhood. As a coming-of-age story, the film carries a distinct semi-autobiographical spirit; it is set in Contagem, in the state of Minas Gerais, the very city where the director grew up. By doing so, Martins draws on personal memory as a springboard to explore the collective nostalgia of an entire generation. The result is a portrait of an era drenched in bittersweet affection, yet he remains grounded enough not to shy away from the social nuances and hardships of the time—of a newly (re)democratized country that had only recently emerged from a long military dictatorship.
The production design is a clear standout, featuring a meticulously crafted period authenticity that allows the audience to truly feel the atmosphere of the decade—capturing exactly what life in 1990s Brazil felt like. Indeed, the zeitgeist lives in every detail: the modest suburban homes, the school routines, the social dynamics, and the laid-back fashion. It’s all there, including the musical choreography and the specific brand of adventure that defined our lives in those days of analog past, when nothing mattered more than living the moment.
The teenage ensemble is cohesive and exceptionally well-cast, an archetypal mirror of Brazil’s multifaceted social reality. Together, the dreamy and tenacious Erik and his friends—Cristiane (Tatiane Costa), who lives with her grandmother; and Cassinho (Daniel Victor), the son of a religious family whose mother is a piano teacher—evoke a tender message of unity and friendship. Beyond the central trio, Babi Amaral also stands out with her performance as the flamboyant, platinum-haired school principal, Simone. The children’s bond taps into that bittersweet sense of nostalgia that is ever-present in the coming-of-age genre.
The greatest flaw of The Last Episode might be its occasional slide into soap opera style melodrama—particularly in how it portrays Erik’s relationship with his mother. These scenes and interactions act as a centrifugal force on the narrative, pulling the protagonist away from his goal and forcing him to inadvertently confront the social and economic dilemmas of the adult world. These sequences can feel excessively explanatory and dramatic sometimes, falling into the trap of telling rather than showing. Yet, the film draws a line in the sand: growing up is a painful process, and nostalgia is, above all, a selective and manufactured memory.
The Last Episode also seems to open more narrative threads than it can effectively resolve, occasionally losing its way. This is the case with the absent father—a harsh reality that persists in many Brazilian households, where female-led families have learned to weave myths to justify such a void. While Erik’s memories and inquiries lend emotional weight to the story, the father’s absence crowds the central arc, leaving the MacGuffin—the analog camera—as his only true legacy to the narrative. Consequently, the film sometimes loses sight of its most exciting premise—the group of teenagers trying to produce, with their own limited resources, a raw, naive, and creative version of the Dungeons & Dragons finale. And that is precisely what we are eager to see.
The film brings two vital ideas to the table. First, pop culture is undeniably capable of shaping identities—it is no coincidence that the protagonist shares his name with Dungeons & Dragons’ Knight, Eric, reflecting the profound influence pop culture also exerted over his father; by extension, it can define the spirit of an entire generation through repetition, but also through heritage. Second, a genuine love for filmmaking often takes root and manifests through the experimentation and ingenious DIY artifices of youth. Not coincidentally, this is the very ground where many of today’s established filmmakers took their first steps. If Erik’s journey reminds us that some episodes—like our own fleeting memories—are destined to remain unrealized, The Last Episode proves that the urge to create is what truly defines humanity.
