"I'm Still Here" goes beyond being just another film about the military dictatorship, offering a human, intense, and brutally intimate portrait of a family unraveling under overwhelming, uncontrollable forces. Walter Salles, with his raw style and unmatched sensitivity, returns to the theme of a country immersed in repression, but rather than focusing on big political events, he zeroes in on their consequences within homes and personal lives. By centering the story on family drama, Salles subverts the expectation of a traditional historical film, avoiding documentary tones or a broad, structural focus. Here, 1970s Brazil is felt through the struggles of the Paiva family, and in the painful details of their shared wounds, Salles portrays the scars left by a dictatorship that, while distorted in collective memory, remains alive in the lives it shattered.
Choosing to center the narrative through Eunice's perspective-played by the iconic Fernanda Torres and Fernanda Montenegro-lends the film an undeniable authenticity. While dealing with the loss of her husband, Rubens Paiva (Selton Mello), a public figure and defender of the people's rights, Eunice has to keep the family together and maintain her children's emotional stability. Eunice is the pure embodiment of resilience and motherly love, and her daily routine, her rituals with her children, and moments shared as a family are slices of a once-ordinary life, now wrecked by an abrupt absence. Family dinners and memories of beach outings become painful when revisited after Rubens' disappearance, as they reveal the empty space left by systemic violence. Salles skillfully uses this family intimacy to show how dictatorship destroys emotional bonds and disrupts each home's peace, prompting audiences to reflect on how history is also shaped by losses and silent moments in everyday life.
Fernanda Torres' performance is intensely deserving of praise. She embodies a woman who refuses to let grief immobilize her, balancing the protection of her children with the relentless search for answers about her husband's whereabouts. This balance between strength and vulnerability gives Eunice a striking and essential presence in the film. In a moving and remarkably mature performance, Montenegro, as the older Eunice, intensifies the impact of Rubens' absence, bringing a heavy, almost physical silence that resonates in those who never got the chance to say goodbye. The real-life relationship between Montenegro and Torres as mother and daughter adds authenticity to the transitions across time, making Eunice's portrayal even more heartfelt and believable. This genuine continuity allows Salles' film to transcend mere fiction and reach a depth that only a personal story can achieve.
Technically, the film is a visual achievement that captures this family's intimate pain through meticulously crafted cinematography. The use of confined spaces and close-up shots reveals the characters' physical and psychological confinement, mirroring the oppression that hangs over their lives. The soundtrack follows the most emotional scenes with an almost mystical quality, blending with the characters' feelings like a whisper that holds the pains of the past. Salles' use of music is interesting, not just to intensify the drama but to evoke an almost tangible nostalgia in the air, an echo of absences that can never be overcome. This balance between aesthetics and emotion transforms the film into both a tribute to interrupted lives and a celebration of the struggle for justice and memory.
The narrative avoids an easy or simplistic conclusion, choosing instead a more contemplative view on the lasting impact of loss. The film moves forward in time, showing us the future of each family member without offering conclusive or comforting answers. What remains is the pain, an indignation turned into strength, and a refusal to let difficult moments fade into oblivion. Rubens' absence and the commitment of Eunice and her children to preserving his memory result in a catharsis for the audience, as it's both inspiring and deeply moving to see how they, even amid so much pain, resist the urge to let Rubens' legacy be erased-and the film's goal to evoke tears was masterfully achieved, at least for me.
Overall, "I'm Still Here" is one of those rare historical films that, instead of adopting a documentary or openly critical stance, takes a humanistic approach that resonates with our deepest emotions and values. Salles proves his mastery as a filmmaker by crafting a story that is, at once, infuriating and inspiring-a work that reminds us of the importance of keeping the memories and voices of the wronged alive. Through a captivating narrative and an extraordinary cast, he turns the story of a Brazilian family into a universal reminder of human dignity and the importance of memory as a form of resistance.
