I'm Still Here: The Cost Of Forgetting
A thoughtful review of a film that confronts Brazil's past.
One day, you are a married woman with five children, living in the most paradisiacal city in the world. The next, your husband is summoned to testify—and never returns. What is it like to have a husband one day and, suddenly, to be left with only memories and half a dozen white shirts in the closet? How do you defend yourself when your home is under constant surveillance by strangers, and you don’t even know why?
The film I’m Still Here follows the story of the Paiva family through the adaptation of the book of the same name by Marcelo Rubens Paiva, which recounts the disappearance of his father, former Brazilian congressman Rubens Paiva, during the military dictatorship of the 1970s, from the perspective of his mother, Eunice Paiva. Over the course of the narrative, she is forced to rebuild her family while searching for answers about her husband’s whereabouts.
Later, both she and her daughter, Eliana Paiva, are also arrested by the military regime. Faced with the lack of answers about her husband, Eunice decides to become a lawyer and political activist, dedicating herself to giving visibility to other families victimized by the dictatorship. Her work played a crucial role in the drafting of Brazil’s 1988 Federal Constitution, which marked the country’s return to democracy.
I’m Still Here earned Brazilian actress Fernanda Torres the Golden Globe for Best Actress and has currently received three Oscar nominations.
If you asked me how I would describe the plot of I’m Still Here, I would tell you that it's not just about a family, a dictatorship, or the wife of a missing congressman. This film is, as suggested by the lyrics of its theme song, É Preciso Dar um Jeito, Meu Amigo by Brazilian singer Erasmo Carlos, about a country that, despite the "obstacles on the road," is still here. It's about all the victims and oppressors who have yet to see the light of justice—those still waiting for reparations from the Brazilian state and those who remain shielded by a shameful impunity.
For me, the brilliance of this film goes beyond its historical significance. One of I’m Still Here’s greatest strengths is its ability to introduce viewers—especially those unfamiliar with Brazil’s dark chapter of military dictatorship—to this reality through the intimate lens of an ordinary family. It does so without resorting to gratuitous or abstract depictions of violence, as is common in many political films. Instead, the audience is moved by a real story, by real pain. The film carries an ever-present sense of absence, making us feel the loss of Rubens Paiva just as his family did.
I believe director Walter Salles’ sensitivity stems not only from his personal connection to the family portrayed but also from his masterful professionalism. Often, without a single word spoken, the film captures the resilience of a mother who rebuilt herself and her family. It’s a constant invitation for viewers—Brazilian or not—to recognize the responsibility of ensuring that history never repeats itself.
This is evident in the film’s meticulous production details. The narrative begins on an upbeat note, accompanied by an energetic instrumental version of the theme song. However, in the final scene, the same song returns, this time with the lyrics: É preciso dar um jeito, meu amigo ("We need to find a way, my friend").
Another detail that has caught fans’ attention was the film’s poster. Eunice Paiva, the mother and protagonist, appears watchful, as if anticipating the tragedy that will befall her family. Meanwhile, her husband, Rubens Paiva, smiles—because, as we learn in the film, he genuinely believed the dictatorship was nearing its end. His optimism places him in a position as unsuspecting as that of his children, who, at the time of his disappearance, were unaware of the regime’s true nature.
