I’m Still Here | 2024
Fernanda Torres as Eunice in ‘I’m Still Here.' Photo by Adrian Teijido. Courtesy of Sony Pictures Classics.
One thing I love about Walter Salles as a filmmaker is his ability to find an eternity in a single moment. That may sound like a backhanded compliment for a filmmaker, but think about those moments in life when you suddenly become keenly aware of your surroundings, of the people around you and your connection to them, those snippets you choose to savor when you know something is coming to an end, when your life seems to stretch out into infinity and everything for a few fleeting seconds appears to be right with the world.
His latest film, I’m Still Here, contains several such instances, and the theme of memory provides the core of its true-life drama. Hugely popular in its home country of Brazil, I’m Still Here tells the story of the disappearance of Congressman Rubens Paiva, who was kidnapped and murdered by the military dictatorship in Brazil in the early 1970s for suspected communist ties. Based on the memoir of the same name by Paiva's son, Marcelo Paiva, the film uses Paiva's wife, Eunice (Fernanda Torres), as an emotional anchor. Eunice's lifelong quest to seek justice and preserve his memory sheds light on a dark period in Brazil's history.
Salles could have delivered a respectably unremarkable retelling of a real-life tragedy like so many other historical dramas before it, but his decision to focus so intimately on Eunice Paiva really changes the game. Fernanda Torres has been receiving well-deserved critical accolades for her work here, culminating in a somewhat surprising Golden Globe win for Best Actress in a Drama, upsetting the likes of Angelina Jolie (who was widely favored to win), Nicole Kidman, Kate Winslet, Tilda Swinton, and Pamela Anderson. Torres is indeed spectacular in a surprisingly internal performance. Yet this isn't just about the quiet pain of a long-suffering wife. I’m Still Here dives into the interior life of a mother trying to hold her family together under impossible circumstances, to live despite the best totalitarian efforts to intimidate and silence, and keep her husband alive even in death. By focusing on her internal struggles and the glaring absence Rubens' death leaves in the lives of his family, Salles and Torres take the historical and make it personal.
In those moments when the film makes the internal feel tangible, I’m Still Here blossoms into something quite lovely. It has an inherent optimism, even in tragedy, that never feels cheap or dishonest. It is, first and foremost, the story of a mother, and the shared memories of a family whose love gives them joy even in heartache. It's a tricky emotional tightrope to walk, but Salles nails it, bringing to light a national pain and acting as a collective expression of memory and mourning. It's that sense of interiority and empathy that elevates I’m Still Here above other films of its ilk, creating a showcase for Torres and an indelible portrait of personal resilience in the face of fascism where endurance can become the greatest act of defiance.
