by Cris Mora-Villa, Contributing Writer
I find myself peering over this years’ Academy Awards nominees with my eyes fixed on one film: I’m Still Here from director Walter Salles. It was nominated for Best Picture, Best Actress, and Best International Feature Film. While I was hardly surprised by its latter two nominations, the nomination for Best Picture certainly caught my eye. Both Salles and his film hail from Brazil, too far removed from the American studio system to hold much political sway. So where did this nomination come from? To put it simply, its contents must speak for itself.
Now for me, awards discourse is an exercise in subjectivity. To ask what is the best film of any year is to know an answer could never be arrived at by a general populous. Awards are not the be-all and end-all when assessing the qualitative merits of a movie, but what the inclusion of a movie like I’m Still Here in the Best Picture race symbolizes to me is belief in meritocracy. To know that an underseen movie of such quality can receive its recognition just feels right.
I’m Still Here follows an anarchic period in 1970s Rio de Janeiro, as the Paiva family, namely its matriarch Eunice (Fernanda Torres), is forced to reckon with Brazil’s military dictatorship at the height of its power. In the time that’s elapsed since I first exited the theater, my memory of the film’s tenderhearted yet candid approach in observing the lives of its characters has only further solidified itself past where I’d previously held it. To say the quiet part out loud, I’m Still Here is a poignantly stirring monument of humanity that wields every ounce of passion emitting off its actors with great care. At the forefront of this miraculously assembled cast is for my money the performance of the year.
Torres is an actor for whom I had no precursive awareness prior to seeing I’m Still Here. That speaks to my own lack of familiarity with Central American cinema as a cultural blindspot, leaving many works from various directors or actors of that region to fall outside of my filmic purview. With that framework, I’m Still Here is much appreciated as an introductory point to a whole new caliber of actor. It’s a remarkable picture in many regards, but Torres’ performance is worth the price of admission alone. We witness firsthand the emotional toll that is had on Eunice in the wake of a sudden brush with Brazil’s then fascistic state, but how Torres is able to respond in conjuring Eunice’s unwavering strength to the screen is unlike anything I’ve seen in the past quarter century. The end result is a conversion of subtle, precise, and restrained choices that evolve as time progresses to the indispensable effect of capturing our investment. These instantaneous mannerisms don’t just emanate from Torres’ raw spirit — they amalgamate with a stoicism that upholds Eunice’s dignity. Every facet of her performance is conscious of the gravity weighing on her own shoulders. For as complete as her performance may be, I hesitate to fully identify her labor as acting, as that impression is never imposed on the viewer. You’ll find no shortage of great performances across 2024 releases, but many are unable to shed the actorly persona that is knowing the person on screen is doing the thing they’re known for. This is not the case with Torres, as what she’s doing goes beyond just giving a performance. She’s living a life that isn’t her own. This is the story of Maria Lucrécia Eunice Facciolla Paiva, and it’s one Salles treats with immense respect.
Torres’s nomination marks only the second time in Academy Awards history that a Brazilian actor be nominated for Best Actress. The first instance took place in 1999 for the film Central Station. Its relevance cannot go understated, as not only was it also directed by Salles, but it stars Torres’ mother Fernanda Montenegro. An equally prolific actor whose career began in the 1950’s, Montenegro made history with her nomination. Without discounting how rich and substantive her performance is, it’s the story and themes of Central Station as spiritual predecessor to I’m Still Here which are too momentous to ignore.
Central Station follows Dora, a jaded swindler who accompanies a nine year-old Josué (Vinícius de Oliveira) on a trek to search for the father he’s never met. Differences between the movies are present, as Central Station is not as politically motivated as I’m Still Here, nor does the latter share the former’s spiritual skew towards religious symbolism. What ties the two works together at a foundational level, though, are the evocative journeys of their leads, as well as the undeniable legacy of what Montenegro was able to do with Salles 26 years before Torres was afforded the chance to do the same.
Three parallels come to mind in relation to the characters of Dora and Eunice, which best crystalize the connective tissue between I’m Still Here and Central Station, those being each woman’s relation to motherhood, a masking of one’s feelings, and a sentimental value placed on personal items. While the lead performances leave a lasting impression on the viewer, it’s doubtful one could walk away from these viewings without recognizing their ideas as essential pillars of Salles’ movies. Each idea is handled with a deft touch that fits within the context of the respective narratives. Beyond that insular context, both films are simpatico in their portrayal of women who find themselves in situations rife with complexity where answers are difficult to locate. Despite this, Salles affords his protagonists moments of cognizance to reflect and find the answers for themselves. Said conclusions offer varying results for Dora and Eunice, emotionally speaking, but the path in getting there is so told so truthfully that it can only elevate this duology.
What has come to define Dora’s life when we first meet her is the conception of absence. We take her at her word when she says she’s never had a family of her own, and so it is that status quo which gets challenged with the arrival of Josué. The exploration of their relationship is the centerpiece of Central Station, itself equally invested in Josué’s catharsis as it is in Dora’s. The difference is that his known desire is preemptively literalized and readily identifiable by way of story. Josué clings to the hope of finding his father, and so accepts help from Dora to realize that despite their reciprocally hostile behavior. What Dora is searching for exactly is in some manner absent to Dora herself, as she’s only able to pinpoint its existence through time spent with Josué. When we first meet her, she appears to favor a curt and blunt demeanor towards most people in her everyday life. The key word there being “appears,” as that is eventually proven to be a false appraisal of her internal nature. Behind the facade that Dora wears in attempts to shield her emotions is a desire for connection. It’s the reason why Josué’s designation as a surrogate son has such staying power with Dora and vice versa. Dora is not a traditional mother, but she understands what it means to care for someone who is family. This is the level at which she can connect to the maternal instinct innate to Eunice. Arriving and then contending with this dormant instinct is the culmination of Dora’s arc. For Eunice, however, we see that instinct pushed to its limits when met with a foundationally consequential plight on an even grander scale.
Contrary to Dora’s life is Eunice, a mother to five children and a spouse to Rubens (Selton Mello) for nearly 20 years. If solitude and regularly running morally ill-advised scams on unsuspecting passersby is the general makeup of Dora’s day-to-day life, the label of homemaker is valid for Eunice’s, at least at the start of the film. While Dora makes reference to her past as a teacher, we aren’t told or shown any indication that Eunice’s contributions to the family are of a financial matter, as that distinction is left solely to Rubens. Such a divide in home economics wouldn’t be as relevant were it not a critical point of thought for both the audience and Eunice herself once Rubens can no longer bear the role of provider. Eunice never is put in the position to have to measure the love she has for her children, or ponder how she’s chosen to raise them, but to assume Rubens’ place in the context of how that’s come to pass brings up questions that did not exist beforehand. As a civil engineer and former congressman, Rubens could give his family a comfortable life. The first five minutes of the picture quickly contextualize this by inviting us into the Paiva home to witness all its cacophony, but also a tranquility becoming of middle class suburbia. In that time, we see a family bound together through joy and a connection to the space housing it all. I’m Still Here deals with a sentimental value intrinsic to the home, presenting its slow decay before unveiling a subsequent reclamation of what’s been lost.
Salles invites us to inhabit the environments captured on screen. Be it the lively energy which fills the Paiva household, or the bustling claustrophobia of the titular Central Station in Rio de Janeiro where Dora and Josué first meet, these settings bleed off the screen with great character. The Paiva home’s production design is especially notable, as its painstaking detail is well on display for all to see. Every ounce of space refracts familial remnants and vestiges for a culture that once brought about life to their house. It’s here where Salles makes his most personal contribution to the film. He’s spoken in interviews as having personally known the Paiva family as a youth after befriending the Paiva siblings. That connection offers a point of retrospection in providing a level of sense memory to scenes set in the Paivas’ house. Such a personal tie to the lived history of what occurred back in 1971 only strengthens the reality behind the narrative. The film is also not without some influence from the Paiva’s themselves, namely Eunice and Rubens’ only son Marcelo (Antonio Saboia and Guilherme Silveira). His 2015 memoir was published under the name Ainda Estou Aqui, a Portuguese translation of I’m Still Here. In some manner, it’s here where the central text of the film originates. Without having read said memoir, recounting this story from Marcelo’s perspective is indicative of two things. The first being that the need to perpetuate this story in a novelized setting as a means of not allowing these events to be lost to history. The second is to rather unintentionally deepen the importance behind both films’ use of media or items as a tool to bind people together.
Salles places a significant presence in the idea of belongings which hold a personal attachment. Dora doesn’t have much to really hold dear at the start of her journey with Josué. So when certain possessions find a richer meaning throughout their excursion, they gain a value wholly defined by the days the two shared together. They are left with a pair of photos, a dress, and a letter to remember a time spent. Media in I’m Still Here carries an arguably stronger designation, as the notion of memory ceases to leave our own perspective when reaching the end of the picture. Footage of the family’s Super 8 camera, all the various music from their collection of vinyl records, and photo albums containing a lifetime of images recur frequently with an expressed purpose. To look back and recall all of the collective moments that happened in this family’s lives. To remember what else was happening just beyond the frames, and see just how much has been forgotten as the years go by. We hold onto these things because they are the memories of our lifetime, and we have to preserve them for if not ourselves, then for posterity. Eunice and her family recognize this, and do so with Rubens in mind.
The final and most prescient element of this film deals with the economic and societal structures surrounding us. To draw a personal assessment of the political landscape as it exists today, there are many people around the globe (myself included) who go about their lives while bearing witness to life altering events to which they are utterly powerless to stop. That feeling is more apparent than ever before, given our current age of media, and yet this was every bit the case back in 1971. The structural makeup of Brazil as it’s presented in I’m Still Here, and as it had become by the early 1970s, shares lots of similarities to what is permeating today. Groups and parties forged in values antithetical to mankind, in turn contaminating the land in which they rule with unfiltered oppression. Rubens was aware of this during his years as a politician and activist, and in the aftermath of the military’s coup in 1964, took the steps to separate himself from the potential danger he feared may come his way. It came anyway, because that’s what unbalanced power does once someone on the other side simply decides to. For the Paivas, that would arrive in the form of a generational attack on the family home. Attaching a reason as to why Eunice and Rubens endured what they did could never be a lost cause. Because when systemic fascism acts with persecution, accountability is the minimum of what should be owed to its victims. The thing is, I don’t know if Eunice herself would consider herself a victim of what happened to her family.
Such a stance would be understandable, but there remains room to contest through an undercurrent signifying she is too strong to submit to that label. A recurring motif noticeable throughout is that of Eunice’s smile. At a certain point, we see what Eunice ultimately chooses to do with her pain. That is to persist, as it’s what is required. When the oppositional force is so overwhelming in scale, like in an entire government, the only real tool at Eunice’s disposal is time. No amount of legal protestation was going to assist Eunice in raising her family. With years of parenting still ahead of her, the idea of defining that time with despondency was not an ideal resignation. And so begets the smile seen in many of the photographs from that time. Torres noticed this in seeing such images when studying for the role, understanding that choice as an act of free will. Eunice did not choose to flee from her troubles, but to instead play the long game and allow history to run its course and wait for the day where her suffering could no longer be denied.
Over the course of its two-hour-and-15-minute runtime, we come to discover how timeless the story of I’m Still Here really is. Both through the empathy-laden connection that is formed with experiencing a journey so unique to Brazil’s history, yet also universal to us as human beings. And in another respect, it’s a repetition of history for Salles to be celebrated for his contributions to cinema alongside Torres, as she herself stands on the shoulders of her mother. Regardless of the outcome at the Academy Awards ceremony, I know I can look fondly at the spotlight being placed on this movie, as there is no other film this year more deserving of it.
Rating: High Side of Loved It
I’m Still Here is currently playing in theaters
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