You may have never heard of Eunice Paiva. You may not know that there was a military dictatorship in Brazil for 21 years, originating from a coup that was supported by the United States government in 1964. In Aurora Levins Morales’ guide to changing how we discuss history, she notes that “imperial history tends to talk about the world outside of imperial headquarters episodically, as if it existed only when the attention of the empire was upon it.” While the U.S. empire’s attention was certainly present in the many countries in which it facilitated anti-communist regime changes, these aggressions — which impacted the lives of so many — seldom get recorded in American history books. A typical AP U.S. History curriculum will likely mention these regime changes as a whole, but only go into detail about a select few. This is the truth that imperial history erases. It is the truth that art can preserve. Walter Salles’ I’m Still Here records the story of Eunice Paiva, a wife and a mother whose life is irrevocably changed when the Brazilian dictatorship executes an enforced disappearance on her husband, Rubens Paiva.
Oscars season always ushers in both good and bad in the movie-watching world. On one hand, the Academy often props up arguably offensive films that do not connect with the public, like Crash (2004) or this season’s Emilia Pérez (2024). On the other, most years a few small-budget gems will manage to get a spot in big categories, and these films often get a wider release and a bigger audience than they would have without the Oscars publicity. This is the most redeeming part of the awards season, and this year, I’m Still Here received a surprise “Best Picture” nomination and a “Best Actress” nomination for its lead Fernanda Torres. For me, these nominations were enough to move the film from “will watch if I have free time” to “will see as soon as I can,” and that’s exactly what I did when the movie began playing at downtown Ithaca’s Cinemapolis, with a crowd of about eight people who also happened to be free at 2:30 p.m. on a Friday afternoon. In a year where some of the most critically acclaimed movies have thoroughly eluded me, I’m Still Here was a necessary addition to the 2025 “Best Picture” group.
Beginning in Rio de Janeiro in 1971, the first image is Eunice peacefully floating in the ocean before we are introduced to the chaotic Paiva clan. Intense beach volleyball ensues, a little boy finds a stray dog and sisters apply tanning oil under the bright sun. The first third of the movie is a normal family portrait, complete with the oldest child moving away for the first time, a younger one losing a tooth and parents dreaming about what life will be like once their nest is empty. The political background increases in intensity until it finally boils over with Rubens’ chilling and quiet arrest. The typical family story ends and Eunice Paiva’s story of activism begins here, as she fights to find her husband and to publicize his arrest. She has to learn to reconcile her version of motherhood with Rubens’ version of fatherhood. She can no longer just drop the kids at school, she must also pay the maid. As her life as she knew it is taken away from her, the simple family film is taken away from us. You first ask, when will Rubens return? When will they get to build their new home? Then, will he ever return? Will they ever get to build the home? This tonal shift, slow and unyielding, leaves us with not just an image of the Paivas, but also with feelings of dread and confusion similar to what the family must have felt themselves.
Period pieces of the latter half of the 20th century are scary because they often look terrible. Sometimes it seems that the only two options for lighting and lens are “People magazine exclusive tell-all” or “Instagram filter: hippy 70s vibe.” I’m Still Here mercifully proves that this is false. Adrian Teijido, the cinematographer, shot the movie on 35 and 8mm film. It is not too saturated or grainy that it feels inauthentic but also not so neutral that it feels modern. The interspersion of Super 8 montages, all shot by the Paiva’s oldest daughter Vera (Valentina Herzsage), reconciles the distinct film look that people associate with the 1970s with the actual 1970s Brazil.
While there were some excellent lead actress performances this year, nothing really made me excited for anyone to win the Oscar, but with I’m Still Here, Torres is my new pick. She brings intention and intricacy into a role that a lesser actress would have gotten lost in. After what many Brazilians considered an Oscar snub for her mother Fernanda Montenegro’s performance in Central Station (1998), is it time for Brazil to win their first Oscar with Torres?
Telling the story of what occurred in Brazil under military dictatorship is important because it is how we remember those who were lost. From the U.S. vantage point that minimizes the importance of Latin American history, you can begin to understand how the U.S. weaponizes its political influence, often disregarding the safety of the individuals in the countries it interferes in. Rubens Paiva was one high-profile victim of an enforced disappearance, but he was not the only one. This same crime occurred countless times not only in Brazil, but in other Latin American countries with installed regimes. These individuals may have been forced to disappear, but it does not mean that their stories are gone with them. Eunice Paiva kept her husband’s story alive, and I’m Still Here ensures that her own story lives on as well.
Chloe Asack is a junior in the College of Arts and Sciences. She can be reached at cia36@cornell.edu
