I’m Still Here (2024)
Set against the backdrop of Brazil’s military dictatorship in the early 1970s, I’m Still Here follows the heartbreaking and courageous journey of the Paiva family. When Rubens Paiva, a former congressman, is detained by the authorities, his wife Eunice and their five children are plunged into a world of fear and uncertainty. The film paints a vivid portrait of their struggle to stay together and hold onto hope in the face of an oppressive regime.
The film is deeply rooted in a dark chapter of Brazilian history—the era of military rule from 1964 to 1985. This period was characterised by political repression, censorship, and human rights abuses. Through the lens of the Paiva family’s experience, the film captures not only the personal consequences of dictatorship but also the broader societal impact of authoritarian rule. The story of the Paivas serves as a poignant reminder of the emotional and psychological toll such regimes have on individuals and families, making it a significant cultural work with universal resonance.
At its heart, I’m Still Here is a story of resilience, love, and the enduring strength of family. As Rubens is taken away, the narrative intricately weaves through the emotional responses of each family member, especially Eunice. Themes of loss, hope, and the quest for justice thread through the storyline, offering a profound reflection on the human ability to endure, even when faced with unspeakable hardships. It’s a film that paints a haunting picture of what it means to fight for loved ones in a world that seeks to erase their existence.
Fernanda Torres delivers an extraordinary performance as Eunice, capturing the character’s vulnerability while also portraying her inner strength. Torres brings an authenticity to the role, expertly balancing her grief with her determination, making the character come to life in a way that’s both heartbreaking and empowering. Selton Mello, portraying Rubens, is equally captivating in his limited screen time. Though his role is more restrained, Mello imbues his character with a quiet intensity that lingers long after the film ends. The supporting cast, particularly the Paiva children, enhances the emotional weight of the film, creating a sense of realism that grounds the family’s struggles in a relatable, human experience.
The direction from Walter Salles is sensitive and nuanced, allowing the narrative to breathe. Salles manages to blend intimate family moments with the larger political context in a way that doesn’t feel forced. The family’s journey is the emotional centre of the film, but Salles never loses sight of the historical significance of the era. He steers the film with a steady hand, ensuring that we remain emotionally invested in the Paivas’s fate while never losing sight of the broader political implications. His approach allows for a slow, deliberate exploration of the characters’ emotions, which suits the film’s themes of loss and longing.
Adrian Teijido’s cinematography is a standout feature. He captures the contrasting moods of the film with a keen eye, using natural lighting and handheld cameras to create an immersive experience. The handheld shots give us a sense of intimacy, placing us in the middle of the family’s experience. As the film shifts from moments of warmth and familial unity to darker, more oppressive scenes, the cinematography’s subtle changes in tone reflect the escalating tension and uncertainty.
The production design is another strength of the film. The set design meticulously recreates 1970s Brazil, with great attention to detail in the costumes and props. The recurring motif of the family’s beach house acts as a symbol throughout the film. Initially, it feels like a place of refuge—a sanctuary from the outside world. But as the political environment worsens, it transforms into a more confining space, mirroring the family’s growing sense of entrapment. It’s a beautiful touch that elevates the film’s storytelling.
The use of colour in the film is understated but effective. Early on, the colour palette is warm and inviting, mirroring the closeness of the family unit. But as the narrative darkens, the tones shift to more muted hues, visually representing the sense of dread and oppression that looms over the Paivas. It’s a subtle but powerful tool used to enhance the emotional landscape of the film.
Editing by Affonso Gonçalves ensures a deliberate pace that allows for the development of characters and their relationships. The slow pacing may not be for everyone, but it serves to highlight the long, drawn-out suffering of the family. It’s not a film that rushes through its moments—it lingers, giving us time to sit with the grief, the uncertainty, and the pain of those affected by a political system that dehumanises them.
The dialogue in I’m Still Here is poignant and real. There’s an authenticity to the conversations that makes the characters feel grounded and relatable. The script avoids melodrama, opting instead for quiet, tender moments that communicate the characters’ internal turmoil. This makes the film all the more affecting, as we’re not hit over the head with overt emotional cues but rather invited to witness the raw, unspoken pain of a family caught in an impossible situation.
The soundtrack, composed by Warren Ellis, complements the tone of the film without overwhelming it. The music subtly underscores the emotional beats of the story, adding depth to the scenes without drawing attention away from the characters or the narrative. It’s a quiet, haunting score that also lingers long after the film ends.
I’m Still Here grapples with the emotional fallout of a parent’s disappearance and the challenge of maintaining hope in the face of oppressive forces. The way I’m Still Here focuses on the human side of history—on how one family’s journey intersects with the greater political forces at play—and it stands on its own in its ability to evoke empathy and understanding.
I’m Still Here is an emotionally resonant and powerful film that showcases the resilience of the human spirit. With strong performances, particularly from Fernanda Torres, and a direction that allows the story to unfold naturally, it’s a film that demands your attention. While its deliberate pacing might not suit every viewer, its exploration of themes like hope, love, and justice is rich and moving. If you’re looking for a film that digs deep into the emotional toll of political oppression and offers a window into a historical period through the lens of one family’s experience, then I’m Still Here is absolutely worth your time.