I grew up aware of the name Rubens Paiva. Not because I lived through the dictatorship, but because of a series of incredibly passionate history teachers, who lived through it themselves and ensured these names were not forgotten.
For the first time in decades, a Brazilian production is among the year’s most celebrated films. I’m Still Here, a Golden Globe winner and three-time nominee for the upcoming Academy Awards, has captivated international audiences. Directed with masterful precision and emotional resonance by Walter Salles, it has grossed over USD$125 million globally, with further success expected as it continues its worldwide releases – an unprecedented achievement for Brazilian cinema.
I’m Still Here tells the story of Eunice Paiva (Fernanda Torres), mother of five and wife to ex-congressman Rubens Paiva (Selton Mello), who famously urged the population to oppose the military coup of 1964. In the aftermath of the coup, the forcibly imposed military government enacted “Ato Institucional Número Um”, granting itself unchecked power to revoke political mandates, suspend constitutional rights and legitimise violence.
Under this decree, the vocal critic of the regime was stripped of his position and forced into exile, returning months later to a new city – Rio de Janeiro – in hopes of rebuilding his life under the increasingly oppressive government. In 1971, he was arrested in his home and never seen again.
Paiva’s was not an isolated case but part of a campaign to erase dissent, serving as a haunting symbol of Brazil’s military dictatorship. This regime was a brutal machinery that worked tirelessly to silence opposition – persecuting, abducting, torturing and assassinating dissidents, leaving countless families trapped in an endless limbo of uncertainty.
For these families, the absence of their loved ones was not just physical; it was a pervasive psychological void that reverberated through every facet of their lives. This agonising uncertainty is at the heart of the film. It is within this tormenting limbo that Torres powerfully portrays the unspoken and restrained grief of Eunice, who, despite such profound injustice, persists in forging a path forward for her family.
From that moment onwards, there is a shift in tone, amplifying the anguish and tension of the historical period. As acknowledged by Salles himself, the lights dim,, the sounds muffle, the language becomes more subjective and the cameras linger. These moments of stillness allow the viewers to feel the burden of the unspoken, the emptiness of not knowing and the enduring pain of waiting. The absence of answers intensifies the raw, emotional toll inflicted by the dictatorship. Salles delicately explores this limbo, stretching and folding its weight throughout the film, suspending time as the family is simultaneously trapped in the past and haunted by the unknowable future.
The film depicts a fractured reality, where the pursuit of truth feels like chasing shadows, blurring the line between hope and despair. Eunice’s life, after the tragic loss of her father and husband to the family, unfolds in a quiet but suffocating darkness. It is an overwhelming silence punctuated exclusively by fragmented memories and fleeting moments of warmth with her children. The limbo Eunice poignantly inhabits is a striking metaphor for the broader experience of Brazil’s tortured history during the dictatorship, characterised by unresolved grief and an oppressive weight of silence.
In the film’s touching conclusion, Fernanda Montenegro embodies an elderly Eunice carrying the weight of a life spent waiting and remembering. The camera lingers on her face, on her eyes, deep wells of emotion, reflecting the decades of grief, resilience and everlasting hope.
Each measured breath she takes seems to carry the weight of her life, marked by loss and a relentless pursuit of the truth. This silent portrayal spoke volumes, without uttering a single word.
I was fortunate enough to have seen it in the cinema in Brazil. As a people we are notoriously loud. A packed cinema in São Paulo is never truly silent. But when I’m Still Here ended the room was quiet. The kind of silence that isn’t empty, but full–with grief, recognition. Then, like a breath held in finally released, applause erupted, cathartically. Because in Brazil we mourn loudly. And we celebrate even louder.
I’m Still Here represents a pivotal moment for Brazil on the global stage, drawing attention to a history that remains unknown to much of the world. It resonates far beyond Brazilian borders, managing to provide insight into a culture while also addressing universal themes of loss, resistance and perseverance. In a time when the world is grappling with political divisions and social unrest, I’m Still Here offers a sobering reminder of the eternal impact of political repression and the resilience of individuals in the face of it.
As a Brazilian studying in Sydney, I feel incredibly fortunate to extend this piece of our history to the Australian audience. Watching I’m Still Here is not just an emotional experience, but an invitation to reflect on the power of remembrance. The story of Rubens and Eunice Paiva is more than one of the past—it is a call to never forget so that injustices are never repeated. With its upcoming release in Australia, I urge everyone to experience it. This film is a testament to resilience, to the pursuit of truth, and to the enduring power of memory.
