When remembering becomes an act of resistance.
Directed by one of Brazil’s most acclaimed filmmakers, Walter Salles, “Ainda Estou Aqui” (2024) stands as one of the most significant Brazilian productions in recent years. Salles traverses the pain and resilience of those who resisted Brazil’s military dictatorship through a film that is sensitive, humane, and profoundly intimate.
From 1964 to 1985, Brazil experienced a period marked by the overthrow of its democratic government and the imposition of a military regime for two decades. What began as a coup justified by the Armed Forces as a necessary measure to contain communist threats quickly evolved into an authoritarian project rooted in surveillance, censorship, and the systematic dismantling of civil liberties. Throughout the dictatorship, institutional acts such as AI-5 granted the government the power to shut down Congress, intervene in cultural production, and suppress any form of political dissent. Thousands of Brazilians were detained, tortured, or exiled, while many others simply vanished, leaving their families in a state of permanent uncertainty. Beneath the surface of order and progress, an atmosphere of fear and silence prevailed, leaving deep scars on families and on the nation’s collective memory.
Unlike many other works about the period, the film resists the temptation to depict overt brutality or hopelessness. Instead, Salles exposes the invisible violence that an oppressive state can inflict — the silent anguish of those left without answers about the fate of loved ones and the enduring struggle to seek truth and justice even as the world seems to fall apart. Set in Rio de Janeiro in 1970, “Ainda Estou Aqui” opens amid the warmth of the city, surrounded by friendship, affection, and the steady rhythm of the family’s daily life. Rubens Paiva is introduced only briefly — as a father, husband, and friend — before he is taken away, never to return.
When the agents arrive, Rubens remains calm, unwilling to frighten his family, even though he knows what awaits him. He walks to his room, changes clothes, and speaks gently to one of his daughters. The camera no longer shows his face in that scene as a visual suggestion of his disappearance. From that moment on, the emptiness will be present in the house. He drives away in his own car, followed by the agents. Silence overwhelmingly fills the scene.
The film features an extraordinary cast, with some of the greatest names in Brazilian cinema. Selton Mello embodies Rubens Paiva, while Fernanda Torres delivers a powerful performance as Maria Lucrécia Eunice Paiva. Fernanda Montenegro appears as an older Eunice, facing Alzheimer’s disease. The actors portraying the Paiva children deserve equal praise, each capturing the essence of their characters. The narrative is deceptively simple yet profoundly moving. It grips you from within, and then causes a slow, suffocating anguish that lingers long even after the screen fades to black.
The direction and performances are restrained; there are no grand outbursts of tears or despair. This is not the perspective the film adopts. Emotion lives in the small gestures, is hidden in the details, in the emptiness that can no longer be filled, in the gazes that carry immense pain. Everything is contained. Fernanda Torres leads with mastery, portraying Eunice Paiva with remarkable precision. After Rubens Paiva’s abduction, Eunice must reinvent herself to keep moving forward, caring for five children, living with grief, and fighting tirelessly for answers.
When photographed with her children for a newspaper story, Eunice insists that everyone appear smiling, defying the editor’s request for a somber pose. “We’re going to smile. Smile,” she says these words to her children as an act of resistance. She will not give the regime the satisfaction of seeing her family defeated by sorrow. She is still there for her family and for the memory of her husband. In this scene, it is clear how strong she becomes.
Beyond being a film about the military dictatorship, “Ainda Estou Aqui” is a work about resistance and endurance. Once again, Walter Salles delivers a profoundly human and sensitive portrait, reminding that the present, the past, and the future are intertwined in a single journey. And the moment when the film was released could not be more fitting: a time when democracy is fragile, and society tends to forget what it has already lived through. It is essential to revisit memories, to remember not only those who were taken, but also those who remained, fighting not to be erased by history.
Eunice stands as a symbol of courage, strength, and presence. Her resilience is a reminder that ordinary people can challenge injustice. If we are still here, it is because people like her fought so that we could remain.
Ethically created and written by human students, assessed by human experts, and some language revision with AI tools.
