One of the most striking scenes in Walter Salles’ I’m Still Here does not depict any of the violence instilled by the military regime that ruled Brazil for over two decades; nor does it show the despair of having a loved one vanish without a trace, while those so obviously responsible unashamedly deny any involvement.

Rather, it is the scene where Eunice Paiva (Fernanda Torres) is being photographed with her children for an article in the national magazine Manchete. The outlet is covering the efforts of the Paiva family to find out the fate of their husband and father, Rubens (Selton Mello), almost eight years after his disappearance. When the photographer asks the family not to smile, to convey the sorrow of their situation, Eunice unapologetically intervenes: “What do you mean ‘don’t smile’? Yes, we’re going to smile. Smile, children!”

They do smile, but not with the intent of brushing off their pain. As Eunice says to the magazine, “my children and I are tired of punching the tip of the knife.” It is, instead, a smile of resilience, and of defiance. And precisely therein lies the power of the film, of the eponymous book that inspired it, and of the real-life Paiva family’s fight for justice. “What is universal [about this film] is this feeling of family, injustice, and the strength to carry on, always, despite everything — preferably with a smile on your face,” says Ana Paula Sousa, a Brazilian sociologist and film expert, in conversation with The Credits.

I’m Still Here is not the first, and certainly won’t be the last, movie about Brazil’s military dictatorship. But its theatrical release at the end of last year was timely. Sousa argues that the polarized political situation across the world may have helped making it the global success that it is. But it is at home in Brazil where the magnitude of its impact could be truly felt.

With each generation that fades away, so does the memory of the violence and oppression of the regime. Sousa, a professor of Film Studies at a university in Sao Paulo, says that many of her students in their early twenties didn’t know facts about the period that the film recreates. But when Fernanda Torres won the Golden Globe for her magnificent performance, people across Brazil set off fireworks — literally. Torres herself said, with incredulity, that the mood was like the World Cup. The army of young Brazilians on social media has helped increase the film’s visibility. And I’m Still Here will certainly have helped increase the visibility of a crucial time in history that risks being forgotten. Now, Torres herself is an Oscar nominee in the Best Actress category, while the film is doubly honored with nominations for Best Picture and Best International Feature.

So, what happens to Brazilian cinema now? It may be early to tell, but being named the Country of Honour at this year’s Cannes Film Festival might be a sign of the future – one of persistent international acclaim. The Oscar nominations that followed only strengthen the argument that Brazil’s cinematic future is bright. For a nation with a stunning cinematic legacy, but that is so often misconstrued as simply “a country of parties, of joy,” as put by Sousa, this is certainly an inspiring and deserving trajectory.  

We speak with Sousa about the impact of the film and what it means in the broader context of Brazilian culture and politics.

What kind of cultural impact do you think I’m Still Here has made in Brazil? Do you see it as evidence of a revived interest in examining these issues through film and art in general?

The film’s impact is evident, and I would even say unprecedented – at least considering the last 20 years. In addition to the less tangible impacts, such as the rise of a certain pride towards our cinema and the awareness, especially on the part of the younger generations, of what the dictatorship was, we have measurable impacts. The biggest of these, in my opinion, was the growth in the market share of Brazilian cinema domestically. Although, in the 2000s, the average market share of Brazilian films ranged from 10% to 15%, after the pandemic we experienced a vertiginous drop, down to levels of less than 2%. The premiere of I’m Still Here in November 2024 finally put us back on an upward curve, and we closed 2024 with a market share of just over 10%. Premieres that followed, such as O Auto da Compadecida 2 and Chico Bento, also benefited from the wave of interest triggered by I’m Still Here. 

Given your areas of expertise, how do you think a film like I’m Still Here can impact an individual? For someone who lived through the coup, as well as for the younger generations who might gain a better appreciation of their family and their country’s past.

Brazilian cinema has had, especially in the 21st century, a significant number of films about the dictatorship. One of them, Four Days in September (1997), was nominated for an Oscar for Best International Film, and another, The Year My Relatives Went on Vacation (2006), made the short list for the category. In other words, audiences over the age of 40 who follow Brazilian cinema have a sense of the dictatorial period that was also shaped by the films. So, for this section of the public or for those who lived through that period, I’m Still Here doesn’t bring any news about our historical past. But it does make us relive that past in a powerful way, and with a very particular and intense emotional charge. For younger people, the film has also been a revelation in the historical sense. I teach at a film school, ESPM-SP, and some students have told me that they had no idea that our dictatorship had been like that. For all audiences, the film brings something very important politically: it shows the roots of our violent present and establishes a non-explicit link between yesterday and today.

And do you see, then, a connection between I’m Still Here and the Oscar-nominated Brazilian documentary The Edge of Democracy?

That’s for sure. They are two films that show the fragility of our institutions and our democracy. There could even be characters in common in both films.

On a practical level, what do you think the film community can bring to Brazil economically? Then, on a more personal or emotional level, do you believe in the power of film as something that can truly break down barriers, national, political, religious, economic, to allow people to see each other’s commonalities? 

We have an expression in Portuguese: “One swallow doesn’t make a summer.” So it’s clear that, on its own, I’m Still Here wouldn’t be able, as if by magic, to change the history of Brazilian cinema, which has been marked by cycles, slumps and great difficulty in existing in a market that has been set up, since its inception, to receive foreign films. That said, I believe that the achievements of this production could mark a new phase for the sector. At this year’s Berlinale, we had 13 productions and a Silver Bear, and Brazil has just been chosen as the Country of Honor at the Cannes Film Festival – a clear effect of I’m Still Here. Economically, the film demonstrates that, in order to compete for space in the arena of the most powerful world cinema, you have to work with a reasonable budget – many films in Brazil are made with five hundred thousand dollars, and this has an obvious impact on a movie’s career. Another possibility that seems concrete to me is that the film will facilitate new international co-productions. Although the business model for I’m Still Here is completely atypical by Brazilian standards, as it didn’t use public funds or tax benefits, I think this “production engineering” has a lot to teach us. Finally, of course, I believe in the potential of cinema to break down barriers and create greater empathy between different nations. You, in the United States, discovered this almost a hundred years ago!

You are an expert in film, as well as a doctor in sociology. How have these two subjects come together throughout your career? How do they relate?

My doctoral thesis, on Brazilian film policy since the creation of the National Film Agency (Ancine) at the beginning of the 21st century, is more sociological than cinematographic. I set out to show how agents in the sector mobilize to articulate policies for production, distribution and exhibition. As a journalist, I’ve worked a lot as a film critic, and I’ve also done a lot of curatorial work, but I’ve always found it fascinating to understand the complexity involved in the adventure of making a film. I think that without the sociological perspective I would be just another film critic and, without the love of films, I wouldn’t have the generosity necessary to understand the social articulations involved in the production of a film – including the political struggle.

You wrote an excellent article based on research by Lilia Schwarcz, “How does Brazil see itself?” Do you believe I’m Still Here has influenced the national archetype?

Somewhat along the lines of what Lilia said, I think the movie exposed the roots of our violence – social, institutional and physical. For a long time, we have been shrouded in the haze of the idea that we’re a country of parties, of joy, of the “way things are” and fed by the illusion that we’re the “country of the future.” I’m Still Here shows that perhaps we are still the “country of the past,” in the sense that we need to deal with our old problems, including torture and slavery. But it’s interesting to think that the lightness of the initial part of the movie also represents us as a nation, as a “spirit.” But the movie makes it clear that that’s not all we are.

And do you see a connection between I’m Still Here and the Oscar-nominated Brazilian documentary The Edge of Democracy?

That’s for sure. They are two films that show the fragility of our institutions and our democracy. There could even be characters in common in both films.

Why do you think I’m Still Here has been so successful in the US and Europe? Is it a universal story?

I can’t deny that this success surprised me. When I saw the movie for the first time, I didn’t think anything along those lines – “Oh, how will this movie communicate well abroad?” I did think about how well it could communicate with young Brazilians. I believe that the political issue, in the context of the rise of the extreme right, plays a role in this. But that obviously wouldn’t be enough. What is universal is this feeling of family, injustice and the strength to carry on, always, despite everything – preferably with a smile on your face.

How do you feel—as a film expert, a sociologist, and a Brazilian—seeing the film and Fernanda Torres receiving so much international acclaim?

It’s thrilling and exciting. I’ve known many of the professionals involved in this project professionally for over two decades. Nobody started yesterday. It’s a group of people who have dedicated their lives to Brazilian cinema. Seeing them in this place and seeing them leaving for Los Angeles this week makes me feel almost as if I’m going too (laughs). And, well, Fernanda Torres…I think we’re all a bit obsessed with her! Fernanda is a well-known, respected and admired actress, and suddenly we see that it’s not just us who think so: she has charmed people all over the world, not just for her phenomenal work in the movie, but for her appearances, her laugh-out-loud interviews and her charm. Her past work, especially her comedic work, has gone viral on the internet. Although her Oscar nomination came with a drama, she is a very, very good comedian, and these old roles are really very funny. I’ve also always followed her work as a writer and newspaper columnist and admired her intelligence. I confess that, when I think about these feelings, I see less the film journalist and the PhD in sociology and more a 51-year-old Brazilian woman, linked to the world of the arts, who is thrilled to see someone with her attitudes, trajectory and age gain such prominence and recognition.

Featured image: FERNANDA TORRES as Eunice in ‘I’m Still Here.” Image: Alile Onawale. Courtesy of Sony Pictures Classics