João Chalherani

São Paulo, Sociedade Anônima drops you straight into the chaos and concrete sprawl of 1960s São Paulo, where João Chalherani’s character, Carlos, is basically just trying to survive the grind. He’s your average middle-class guy—well, maybe not average, actually, because he’s got this gnawing sense that he’s stuck in a life he didn’t sign up for. He clocks in at this auto parts factory, surrounded by the buzz and clatter of machines, with bosses breathing down his neck and coworkers who seem to be just as lost as he is. There’s this relentless pressure to make it, to buy into the whole corporate dream, but honestly, it’s not working out so hot for him. He’s married, but the relationship’s got this hollow ring to it—like two people just going through the motions. And don’t even get started on the side flings; they’re not really about passion, more about numb distraction from the suffocating routine. You watch him drift through parties, traffic jams, office politics, and family obligations, always with a cigarette dangling from his lips, looking for some kind of meaning that’s never really there. The city itself almost feels like another character—huge, impersonal, swallowing up everyone in its path. The whole movie’s kind of a slow burn, really, peeling back the layers of modern alienation and anxiety. It’s loaded with dry humor and moments where you just want to yell at the screen, “Wake up, man!” But that’s the point—Carlos could be anyone, lost in a world that keeps speeding up while he’s stuck in neutral. It’s bleak, honest, and weirdly relatable if you’ve ever felt trapped by your own life.