Charlie is Not a Boy

A young albino banker posing in their eccentric grandmother’s living room after her passing — dressed like her, smoking multiple cigarettes at once like her, living like her. This was the first character I imagined nine years ago, while I was working as a photographer in Rio de Janeiro.

When I decided to leave photography for cinema last year, I began a series of camera tests with various artists, attempting to translate my still world into motion. One afternoon, Brooks — a dear friend and the lead actor of my short — walked into my apartment wearing an outfit that evoked a stylish, mourning grandmother. I knew my first film would be about this peculiar, resurfacing figure, whom I named Charlie. That very day, the 2024 elections happened…

The next morning, I sat down to sketch the outlines of the story. I had never written a script or made a film before. I wondered how to begin — but Charlie whispered an enduring tale into my ear right away, echoing what was about to unfold in the country and its military. From there, my theater-directing instincts took over as I shaped Charlie’s fragile world, inspired by French fantastical realists like Marcel Aymé, queer comic books, and the dark, whimsical American stories I grew up with. But nothing inspired me more than Brooks’ own journey — from a lost kid in upstate New York to a radiant, non-binary performer in Los Angeles.