What happens when history walks into your home, uninvited, and rips everything apart?
Walter Salles’ latest film, I’m Still Here, tackles this question with a delicate yet unflinching gaze. Based on Marcelo Rubens Paiva’s autobiographical novel, the film tells the story of a woman whose life is upended when her husband, a former congressman during Brazil’s military dictatorship, is suddenly taken from her.
At the heart of the film is a family home. Not just any home, but a sprawling, sunlit house in Rio de Janeiro, where five children, loving parents, and a devoted housemaid, Zé, create an environment of warmth and openness. It’s the kind of place where kids run barefoot from the living room to the beach, where birthdays are celebrated with wild dancing, where friends drop by unannounced and stay for days.
Salles, one of Brazil’s most revered filmmakers, returns to fiction storytelling after a decade-long break, during which he experimented with documentaries. His last narrative feature was released in 2012, and much of his absence from fiction filmmaking he has also attributed to Brazil’s political climate, four years of modern dictatorship to be precise, which made it nearly impossible for him – and many other filmmakers – to work. Now, with I’m Still Here, he brings to the screen a deeply personal and politically urgent story that has been in the making for seven years.
Source: Screen Rant
And if that sounds heavy—well, it is. But Salles, one of Brazil’s most acclaimed filmmakers (also one of its wealthiest, thanks to his family’s banking empire), does not just dwell in tragedy. He captures the vibrancy of life before the fall, the warmth of a home teeming with children, and the sunlit ease of a world that, for a brief moment, felt untouchable. It makes the inevitable rupture all the more gut-wrenching.
Shot on 35mm film with a texture that feels like it was plucked from an old family album (DP: Adrian Tejido), the cinematography is both intimate and sweeping – so tactile you can almost smell the salty Rio de Janeiro air. There is a sense of intimacy, almost documentary-like in its approach, blending traditional cinematography with 8mm footage shot by the family’s eldest daughter, Vera. We watch them tease each other over breakfast, grab ice creams together, and share inside jokes that come from years of togetherness. It is a household full of laughter, light, and seemingly unbreakable bonds.
And at the heart of it all is Fernanda Torres, whose performance as the mother (Eunice Paiva) is nothing short of extraordinary, reserved and quietly powerful. But the entire ensemble cast does a great job, including the legendary Fernanda Montenegro (Central Station), often referred to as the ‘The No.1 Actress of Brazil’.
To create a sense of deep familiarity, the cast reportedly lived together in the actual house where much of the story takes place. Their time spent in close quarters, combined with a significant amount of improvisation, allowed for an organic chemistry to develop, making their on-screen relationships feel deeply lived-in. The film was also shot chronologically, a rarity in modern filmmaking, which gave the actors time to build real emotional connections with one another.
And then, everything changes.
Without revealing too much, the father’s (Rubens played by the chameleon-esque Selton Mello) fate is sealed by a black car pulling up in broad daylight, by nameless armed figures who carry the weight of a brutal regime. The warmth of the home is replaced by cold uncertainty. Where is he being taken? Why? And most importantly: when is dad coming home?
For anyone familiar with 20th-century dictatorships, whether in Latin America or Eastern Europe, these images will feel hauntingly familiar. The quiet knock on the door, the shadowy figures who operate without accountability, the government’s ability to make people disappear in a moment – Salles captures it all with a precision that makes it even more chilling.
Salles is no stranger to the Paiva family. As a child, he was friends with the Paiva children, often playing with them in the very house that becomes a central character in the film (mind-blowing detail). This personal connection gives I’m Still Here an undeniable authenticity. You can feel the director’s deep emotional investment in every frame. This is not just a historical account; it is an intimate story of the warmth and love of a family.
Source: MSPFilm
At the film’s core is the mother—a woman who must transform from a wife and mother to a leader and engine of her family. Her journey is one of resilience and reinvention, a tribute to the countless women who held their families together while history tore them apart. It is also an unflinching look at how nations must face their past in order to heal.
Brazil has a complicated relationship with its history, and I’m Still Here forces the audience to confront it. This is not just the story of one family; it is the story of many. The trauma of political violence does not disappear with time—it lingers, shaping generations, shaping our psyche and identity. For younger audiences, films like this serve as both a history lesson and a call for remembrance. Let’s not let the same darkness take over that we had been ruled by in the past.
Salles has crafted a masterpiece of memory and resistance. It is a story of grief, but also of hope. Because in the end, history may knock on your door, but survival is found in those who refuse to be erased.
And as the title suggests, they are still here. And they speak to us, we just have to listen.
Catch I’m Still Here at the nearest movie theatre or rent it on AppleTV or Prime Video. Just make sure not to miss it!
~ by Dora Endre ~
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