One moment, you’re enjoying one of the most memorable days of your life — sharing hearty laughs and savoring your favorite meal at a local hotel; Next, you’re sitting across the table, teary-eyed, watching another family create similar memories, as you grapple with the reality that you’ll never experience moments like these again. Set against a background of Brazil’s military dictatorship (1964-1985), director Walter Sayles’ political biographical drama I’m Still Here – recently exhibited 2024 International Film Festival of Kerala (IFFK) – is a deeply well-crafted film, telling the story of Eunice Paiva (played by a talented Fernanda Torres) and her five children, whose lives are irrevocably changed by the enforced disappearance of her husband, Rubens Paiva (Selton Mello). Congress, in the hands of the military regime.
What allows the Portuguese-language film to resonate so deeply with audiences is that it is grounded I’m still hereThe autobiography of Eunice and Rubens’ son Marcelo Rubens Paiva—a prominent Brazilian novelist, playwright, and journalist—thus imbues the narrative with a palpable sense of authenticity and emotional depth.
I’m Still Here opens in Rio de Janeiro in the 1970s, when the military dictatorship was at its peak and the armed forces held absolute power, conducting arbitrary searches and detaining people without explanation or accountability. Amidst this climate of fear, the liberal Paiwa family lives in a “quiet” beachside neighborhood, surrounded by friends and a close-knit community. In their family, politics is not just a matter for adults; Younger family members also actively engage in political discourse and closely monitor events around them, demonstrating their commitment to civic responsibility.
What makes the film so poignant—even without the graphic depiction of physical torture—is Seles’ remarkable ability to capture the family’s moments of joy and connection before Rubens’ forced disappearance, thus emphasizing the devastating extent of their loss.
In the very first act, Sales deftly portrays the dire state of a country where freedom has become a myth. This is clearly depicted when the couple’s eldest daughter, Vera Paiva (Valentina Herzez), is traveling in a car with her friends and they are enjoying themselves – listening to music, singing together and Vera is capturing all this on a video camera – their happiness. The moment is suddenly interrupted by an army checkpoint where soldiers treat the group with harshness, with a clear disregard for their humanity. Reserved for non-fragile parcels. They push and pull the youth at every command, asserting their authority for no apparent reason. By accurately capturing this sudden shift in tone and atmosphere within a scene, Sales immerses the audience in the oppressive reality the characters experience.
Watch the I’m Still Here trailer here:
The film also excels at depicting how Brazilian citizens try to find happiness in small, fleeting moments, knowing that such happiness can be fleeting. This is illustrated through an expertly crafted and staged scene where Rubens is taken into custody, which also serves as a microcosm of the larger horrors the film explores. One moment, Rubens and Eunice are sharing a laugh; Then, the armed men quietly enter their house and, without issuing threats or raising a voice, they inform Rubens with grave seriousness that he must accompany them to make a statement, offering no further explanation. Eunice pleads with them, saying that Rubens is only a former Brazilian (Labor Party) congressman who is no longer politically active, but her arguments fall on deaf ears. The men persist, demanding Rubens’s compliance. Aware of the possible consequences of resistance, Rubens agrees and prepares to leave.
This sequence powerfully portrays the unchecked power of the military – a reality not limited to 70’s Brazil but also present in any authoritarian regime or occupied territory. The right to arrest anyone suspected of “anti-national activities” is also a stark reminder that weapons are often used by governments to suppress dissent and silence critics.
I’m Still Here is directed by Walter Salles. (Image: IMDb)
From a global perspective, this order resonates deeply, especially as Palestinians continue to endure brutality by Israel and its military. The chilling portrayal in I’m Still Here should also be a wake-up call to those who fail to understand or refuse to acknowledge the fear and violence inflicted by regimes backed by heavily armed forces operating with impunity. This sequence follows Eunice standing at the door as she watches Rubens get into the car and before he gets out, she looks back at him with a faint smile – a hauntingly tender moment, as this is the last time she sees the love of her life. . Sales’ direction, Torres and Melo’s nuanced and powerful performances, and Adrian Tejido’s evocative cinematography all deserve praise for the emotional weight of this sequence.
I’m Still Here carries significant relevance in the Indian context as well. The plight of political prisoners like Umar Khalid, those jailed in the Bhima Koregaon case like Surendra Godling and Jyoti Jagtap, and those jailed under draconian laws like the Unlawful Activities (Prevention) Act (UAPA) – which is Often used to target dissenting voices—highlights the relevance of the film. The title I’m Still Here can be interpreted as a collective cry of these prisoners, asking society to recognize their plight and refusing to erase it, it also stands as a declaration to the authorities that oppression, emotion is different. no need Prof. G.N. As evidenced by the lives of Saibaba and Stan Swami, the state of resistance will continue.
I’m Still Here was recently screened at the 2024 International Film Festival of Kerala. (Image: IMDb)
Although the camera initially adopts a broad and all-encompassing perspective, capturing the lives of various characters, its focus sharply narrows to Eunice after Rubens’ arrest, reflecting the heavy burden of responsibility and grief that suddenly falls upon her. However, when a tabloid reporter arrives to cover Rubens’ enforced disappearance – for which the Paiva family receives no response from the authorities and remains unaware of his whereabouts – Eunice is asked for a family photo. Although the reporter advises against smiling, fearing that it might weaken the emotional impact of the story, Eunice instructs her children to smile widely, and this serves as a calm but defiant message to the oppressive regime, declaring that Paivas refuses to accept.
In a pivotal scene, as Eunice investigates the truth behind Rubens’ detention, she discovers that he, along with his friends, was actively supporting the underground opposition by helping those hunted by the government. This revelation highlights how women always bear the greatest consequences for men’s actions. While Rubens’ efforts were noble and courageous, his decision to exclude Eunice from his plans left him unprepared to face the consequences, forcing him to take on everything alone.
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Even after learning that Rubens was murdered, Eunice receives no concrete evidence of his death. Undaunted, she perseveres in her search for answers, which ultimately culminates in the receipt of her death certificate 25 years after her enforced disappearance—a triumph borne of her relentless determination.
In a later scene, Younis, speaking to the media, is asked whether Brazil should continue to introspect and address past mistakes instead of focusing solely on moving forward. She responds firmly, stressing the importance of setting the record straight so that justice, somehow, can prevail. According to The New York TimesHuman rights groups estimate that hundreds were forcibly disappeared and around 20,000 people were tortured during Brazil’s dictatorship. However, unlike Chile or Argentina, where many perpetrators of such atrocities faced legal consequences, Brazil has unfortunately failed to pursue accountability for its military atrocities.
Fernanda Torres and her mother Fernanda Montenegro as Eunice Paiva. (Photos: IMDb)
Finally, we see an elderly and wheelchair-bound Eunice (portrayed by the iconic Fernanda Montenegro, Fernanda Torres’ iconic mother) in 2014 surrounded by her children and their families. They gather for a family photo, all smiling again. Their resilience and strength, embodying the life Rubens wanted for them—a happy and fulfilling union, free from exile.
Ironically, before the screening of I’m Still Here, which explores the devastating consequences of unchecked government power, an incident in Kerala highlighted similar intolerance. A 28-year-old lawyer has been arrested By policing Kerala Chief Minister Pinarayi Vijayan during the IFFK 2024 inauguration in Thiruvananthapuram, how power can blind those in authority, making them intolerant of dissent. Screening a film like I’m Still Here immediately after such an event only underscores the hypocrisy of the Kerala government, which claims to champion artistic freedom and silences acts of protest against its leadership.
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