Films featuring dark political themes are an acquired taste for many moviegoers, but, when they tell personal stories within such a context, they generally become more accessible for audience members, even those who might not ordinarily gravitate to pictures in this genre. That’s a goal expertly accomplished in the latest from director Walter Salles. This superb fact-based offering tells the heart-wrenching story of former Brazilian politician Rubens Paiva (Selton Mello) who, in 1971, was seized by, and subsequently disappeared at the hands of, the military dictatorship that overran in the country at that time. Paiva, who was working as an engineer when captured, was taken because of his liberal-leaning politics, especially in his clandestine efforts to assist those opposed to the oppressive policies and practices of Brazil’s hard-line right-wing authorities. His seizure subsequently led to the detainment of his wife, Eunice (Fernanda Torres), and daughter, Eliana (Luiza Kosovski), in an effort to find out who their husband and father may have associated with, as well as what activities he may have engaged in. This harassment by officials, though, was not enough to stop the determination of Eunice and her family from trying to find out what happened to their loved one. In telling this story, the filmmaker not only relates a tale of high suspense, but also presents a compelling chronicle of a family committed to remaining hopeful and uncovering the truth, no matter how horrendous it might ultimately prove to be. In carrying out this mission, “I’m Still Here” successfully fires on all of its cinematic cylinders, perpetually engaging viewers in a gripping, emotionally charged odyssey, not unlike the films of famed filmmaker Costa-Gavras, most notably “Missing” (1982). In my view, this is the film most deserving of this year’s Oscars for best picture, lead actress (Torres) and international picture, hands down, not to mention a bushel of overlooked nominations in other categories. By all means, do not pass this one up.
