Were it not for the interspersed noises of helicopters hovering in the distance or vehicles with armed men discreetly passing by as families enjoy their endlessly sunny days at the beach, I’m Still Here could easily have been mistaken for a sentimental tribute to Brazil’s recent past. Set in the early 70s, the film follows the Paiva’s - an upper-middle class family whose seemingly picturesque days revolve around having neighbors and friends over to their beachside house, playing football and joyfully arguing about the political situation. Rubens Paiva, a former congressman for the brazilian labour party, has recently returned to his wife and kids after a brief stint in exile following the 1964 coup that ousted his party from power and replaced it with a military junta. Despite being a high-profiled dissident, Rubens behaves as if the dictatorial regime is but a minor inconvenience, necessitating some carefulness but not forcing the Paiva’s to refrain from socializing with like-minded friends in a way that - coupled with the looming threat of the junta - has the viewer on the edge of the seat up until the film’s climax. Though Eunice, Rubens’ wife, initially seems to share his carefree attitude, this inevitably changes once reality is forced upon the Paiva’s about midway through the movie. 

Despite its dramatic subject matter, I’m still here is a surprisingly subtle film. Aside from the few-worded men that suddenly arrive to interrogate and surveille the Paiva’s, and a picture frame displaying the equally unassuming dictator, no face is put to the evil done to the family. Instead of depicting the violent coup or Eunice’s fight for rectification, Walter Salles -the director- chooses to illustrate the brutality of the regime through her efforts to maintain something resemblant of a normal family life. We see her struggle both financially and emotionally as she shields the younger children from the news about their father’s disappearance, while also spending some time seeking information about his fate. Throughout the film, it’s hard to tell whether the Paiva’s initial nonchalance or Eunice’s vain attempts at filing court orders to find the whereabouts of her husband, are symptomatic of their bravery or naivety. Similarly, it’s hard to tell whether Eunice’s decision not to tell the children what has happened is one made in their best interest or out of her own denial. 

It doesn’t take a psychic to figure out what happens to Rubens. Instead, it’s the ambiguity concerning Eunice’s reaction that makes the film worthwhile. What could’ve been a flick about a single mother’s legal battle for resurrection (à la Erin Brockovich), or the brutal fate of a brave dissident, instead becomes one in which scenes of dinner-table arguments or the careful reading of a letter unveil the iron-rule of a state conspicuous by its physical absence, but nonetheless omnipresent. By focusing on their ordinary lives instead of the grander tragedy or struggle their fate so easily could have been equated with, the character’s become less malleable–and therefore, also more human. Thanks in great part to the impressive acting of Fernanda Torres, I’m still here manages to convey the repercussions of a dictatorial regime on the everyday lives of its citizens in a fashion as striking as it is convincing. 

Note: For those who liked I’m Still Here, I strongly recommend Burnt by the Sun, by Nikita Mihkahlkov — a somewhat similar story set in the USSR in the 1930’s.