Best Picture Nominee Explores a Dark Chapter of Brazilian History
DIRECTOR: WALTER SALLES/2024
In 1970, the Paiva family films their home movies on the beach. Since they live just a few steps from the Atlantic, they spend their Christmas holidays playing sand volleyball and swimming during the day then hosting gatherings at night. Rubens (Selton Mello), a former congressman, his wife Eunice (Fernanda Torres), and their friends may discuss their frustrations with the government during after-dinner cocktails in the library, but they have little to complain about otherwise. Their mid-century Rio de Janeiro home is plenty comfortable for their five children and housekeeper, so much so they can’t come up with an excuse not to adopt the stray dog they find on the beach. But by 1971, they are making different kinds of memories when Rubens is arrested, ones set in a miasma of drawn curtains, anxious whispers, and anonymous cells.
Of this year’s ten Best Picture nominees, I’m Still Here may be the most traditional Oscar bait. Sure, you could make a case for A Complete Unknown or Conclave, which each check many of the Academy’s favorite boxes, but what’s more beloved than a story about real-life heroes fighting oppression and corruption to change history? Six Best Picture winners of the 21st century meet that description (as recently as last year’s Oppenheimer), and at least a dozen (if not two dozen) more 21st century nominees fit that description, too.
The refreshing angle, at least for North American audiences, is that the story of Rubens and Eunice Paiva is little-known. Case in point: If you filter out items published since the release of I’m Still Here, your Google search will return few English-language articles about this family. (Not even a Britannica entry!) Perhaps South American audiences will feel differently, but the familiar biopic structure is helpful for audiences above the equator who need to acclimate to the setting. Without historical context, the political risks the Paivas face can feel unclear—if Rubens is arrested and their house bugged, why does Eunice continue to openly discuss his absence with their friends?—but a family ripped apart is universally understood. (It’s possible these turbid stakes are intentional to demonstrate the family’s confusion; most events of the film seem consistent with the limited English–language reporting I could find.)
Until the last 20 minutes, the film also avoids the common biopic flaw of trying to depict too many years, keeping a tight focus on Eunice’s transformation from bourgeoisie housewife to activist against Brazil’s military dictatorship. (That 20-minute epilogue could have been shortened to 5 with the help of a few title cards.) If there’s any flaw in I’m Still Here, it’s that, well, Eunice and Rubens have none. Their family is idyllic until outside forces ruin it, and as the pressure mounts, Eunice never wavers in her integrity or warmth. Even Selma acknowledged criticisms of Martin Luther King Jr., but the one moment she loses her temper and slaps one of her children feels less like a moment of weakness than one of isolation felt by a sudden single parent.
Not that this is a flaw in Torres’s Oscar-nominated performance. At its best, I’m Still Here not only explicates a chapter in time without making it feel like a trawl, and it explores the intersection of photography and memory as well as the fork in the road between fear and responsibility. None of this would be possible without her authentic performance. I’m Still Here may be Oscar bait, yes, but it’s not without merit.