There is a moment towards the end of I’m Still Here (Portuguese: Ainda Estou Aqui) where the older Eunice Paiva sits at a table at what appears to be an informal family celebration – the rest of the room is lively, while she sits in pleasant silence, observing her children and grandchildren. Yet, no one seems to be paying attention to their matriarch, which is especially intriguing considering she was the anchor of this entire family, the lifeblood that kept them going for decades, and essentially raising them on her own after a particularly tragic event – and finally, the responsibility of guiding this family towards their future has been completed, and she can finally rest for the first time in her life. This is one of the many astonishing moments in Walter Salles’ triumphant return to film, once again proving his impeccable mettle as a storyteller by adapting the memoir by Marcelo Rubens Paiva, which focuses on his family, whose patriarch Rubens Paiva (a former congressman and political advocate) was kidnapped in 1971 during the Brazilian military dictatorship, being abducted by some militants under the guise of asking him to attend a deposition. When he failed to return home, the responsibility to raise their family fell onto his wife Eunice, who was tasked with caring for their five children on a very paltry income and whatever savings she could find, all the while doing her best to determine what happened to her husband, her hope fading by the day, but never being entirely extinguished until her final moments. A stunning, well-crafted drama that acts as an exceptional return for Salles, a director who has been severely underpraised throughout his career, I’m Still Here is an astonishing achievement (especially coming over a decade since his last film), handcrafted in such a way that it pays tribute to the real-life subjects while still being daring and provocative in its own right, something that feels incredibly meaningful, especially when it is accompanied by the underlying themes that make this film such an extraordinary, heartfelt ode to not only the woman who was placed in this precarious position but to an entire culture that suffered under a brutal regime, fighting for their independence and security in equal measure.

I’m Still Here is first and foremost a love letter to the director’s native Brazil, done through an engaging adaptation of one of the most powerful, effective works of non-fiction to come out of the country, and which has become quite influential in its scope and how much it speaks to the general social and political atmosphere at the time, by way of an intricately-woven story of one family defying the odds and intending to survive in a country that seems to be falling apart at the seams. Salles has often used his films as a means to explore a particular culture, and in returning to Brazil, he weaves a captivating portrait of the country at a very specific time in the past, examining the lives of ordinary people living under a brutal, draconian dictatorship that redefined the very fabric of their society and pushed many people to the edges of their sanity, if it didn’t get a chance to eliminate them before they reached that point. Even those unaware of Paiva and his achievements will find exceptional value in I’m Still Here, which is a vibrant and moving portrait of Brazil and its people in both the past and present. Salles takes us on a journey through time, following Eunice and her journey over roughly forty years, each one of them spent oscillating between raising her children and seeking the truth about what happened to her husband, and then eventually fighting for justice when she realizes that he is not returning home. It may seem like a very specific account of this family and their life, but the film does prove to be much broader and more elaborate in how it uses their story to comment on the political situation in Brazil, and how it changed consistently over the years, undergoing many ideological shifts but still being a vibrant nation known for its resilience, tenacity and courage, all of which are beautifully defined by Eunice and her quest for answers, representing the legions of brave individuals that dared to take on the system and bore the full brunt of its power through questioning these structures and the institutions (as well as the people within) who facilitated such suffering and despair.

There is a literary concept that I have always been drawn to, not only because of its depth but also how we see it in so many exceptional works, even those that don’t focus on this particular idea. The concept of the “present absent” lingers heavily in many works, where the spectre of someone who exits the story (whether momentarily or through their demise, the latter being far more common), guiding the narrative and acting as an unseen presence in the story. I’m Still Here is a film built from this very principle, since the entire narrative revolves around the disappearance of Rubens Paiva, but rather than looking at his abduction and what he endured, it focuses on the people who were left behind, which may seem less exciting in theory, but serves the dual purpose of not requiring Salles and writers Murilo Hauser and Heitor Lorega to have to speculate on what he endured, and because it sheds insights into what his wife and children had to face in the years following his disappearance, which is a truly compelling example of finding strength in times of immense tragedy. This is an incredibly intimate portrait of a woman whose only choice when faced with enormous suffering and despair is quite simply to rebel against the system, doing so in a small but substantial way that is covert enough to evade the sometimes reactionary logic of her adversaries, but still clear enough to indicate that she’s not interested in following the status quo and that she is willing to become persona non grata if it means she can get the answers to the whereabouts of her husband and ensure the wellbeing of her children. The film examines the psychological state that comes with the sudden and mysterious disappearance of their patriarch, particularly in how their despair gradually turns into grief when they realize that hope is a fool’s errand and that he is yet another casualty of a destructive dictatorship that would sooner annihilate its enemies (and those who they perceive as being even marginally a threat to their ideology) long before they are willing to compromise.

Rubens Paiva may be one of the martyrs of the struggle, but it’s his wife whose journey is most enduring, which is firmly established throughout this film. Salles chooses to cast Fernanda Torres in the part of Eunice Paiva, which is an exceptional choice – not only is she considered one of the most versatile and acclaimed actors in contemporary Brazilian cinema, but she is also the daughter of Fernanda Montenegro, who stands us the unquestionable titan of the country’s artistic industry, an actor who has risen to be an institution all on her own, with one of her most important performances coming from her collaboration with Salles on the widely-celebrated Central Station over a quarter of a century ago. The mother and daughter both occupy the part of Eunice, with Torres getting the lion’s share of time on screen (as she plays the role from the early 1970s to the late 1990s) and commands the screen with incredible vigour. There is something extraordinarily beautiful about the work she is doing in I’m Still Here, which finds her exploring emotions that have previously not been widely examined in a lot of contemporary cinema. On the surface, the idea of playing a mother and wife faced with the disappearance of her spouse seems like fertile ground for any actor to show the extent of their talents by veering towards the melodramatic and hysterical, Torres instead chooses a far more subtle, nuanced approach in which she mainly keeps these emotions internal, allowing them to peek through on occasion but not quite giving them the space to develop to the point where it becomes an overwrought performance. The same can be said for Montenegro, who only appears for a few minutes towards the end of the film, and is entirely wordless – her face in the final two scenes says more than any spoken dialogue ever could, emphasizing the quiet resilience of this character and how she fought for justice and answers towards the very end of her life. Salles extracts the best possible work from the two actors, who are nonetheless incredible beneficiaries of his vision, and who offer their immense talents in the pursuit of weaving the most impactful vision of Eunice’s journey imaginable.

There are many qualities that Salles has demonstrated as being the foundation of his exceptional skill, but one of the most important is how he constantly refuses to follow conventions in terms of tone and how his stories manifest on screen. I’m Still Here could have been an overly heavy-handed, melodramatic affair based on the subject matter and how it naturally could have lent itself to something more intense, but his approach was far more subtle and nuanced, and driven by a sense of genuine affection and attention to detail, which is much more important than the cheap moments of instant gratification that we’d have likely found had this material been placed into the hands of some of his contemporaries. The film oscillates between delicate and forceful, being a curious blend of ideas that evoke a sense of genuine sadness and undying hope, two emotions that we’d imagine would not work well together, but prove to be entirely symbiotic, elevating one another to create this sensitive depiction of a family handling the trauma that comes with the disappearance of their patriarch. The director has always known that a good concept is the primary foundation for any strong film and that once he finds the right approach, the rest is simply piecing all the fragments together creatively and with a sense of dedication to the real-life people depicted throughout the story. The film is an unfurnished, simple affair that is brimming with meaning – each frame says something different, with Salles’s striking compositions (created in conjunction with the director of cinematography Adrian Teijido) capturing the life of these people as they navigate a hostile situation that they know could be on the precipice of erupting into something violent and dangerous, but still nonetheless impels them to fight for their rights. The simplicity of the filmmaking only further emphasises the underlying themes, which are extraordinarily beautiful, but also direct in what they intend to say, meaning that we are constantly able to pick up on the underlying cues, which prove to be truly valuable in crafting this engaging, poignant narrative.

The Paiva family were just one of many who suffered under this system, and I’m Still Here is not only an exceptional historical account of their story, but its a meaningful exploration of life under a brutal dictatorship, drawing attention to the strength it takes to survive, both physically and psychologically. It is not as linear as it would seem on the surface, and it is often more atmospheric than it is discursive, which makes a considerable difference when we realize this story is not solely about providing answers to the ultimate fate of Rubens Paiva, but rather exploring the ambiguity of a loss that we hope will have a positive outcome, but secretly know will only come to a conclusion when the final announcement of the tragedy is made. Eunice and her family spent decades searching for answers, but when that hope transitions to simply seeking closure, it can be truly harrowing but also provide clear proof of the strength of the human spirit, and how even the most tragic events cannot break someone down if they have a steady resolve and the willingness to stand firm in their belief that they deserve justice. I’m Still Here is a tender, compelling portrait of this family and their matriarch, showing her efforts to both raise her children and find the answers to a mystery that she knows will haunt her for the rest of her life – and it gradually becomes a poignant character study about how there will always be room for optimism and hope, even in the bleakest of circumstances, a lesson that we can all carry with us when we see just how much of a difference such a mindset made in Eunice’s life as she navigated unspeakable treatment at the hands of people who set out to break her spirit, but could never challenge her dedication to provoking the system designed to destroy her hope, something that she quite simply never allows to be taken away from her, being aware that the fight is ongoing, and that she is only a small part of it. Simple but effective, I’m Still Here is an extraordinary portrait of a truly inspirational woman navigating the bleakness of reality, carefully pieced together by the most compassionate of directors, whose dedication to this material only strengthens its underlying message and makes it so much more astonishing in both concept and execution.