Brazilian actress Tainá Müller, star of the Netflix series Bom Dia, Verônica, sat down over mimosas with her friend Maria Ribeiro, with whom she worked on Tropa de Elite 2. In this frank conversation, in Portuguese, she talks about the success of the series, the pressure of social media, growing up and the anger she has decided to embrace.
A series that kept growing
Bom Dia, Verônica followed an unusual path, Müller notes. Most successful series start strong and fade; this one grew by word of mouth, each season drawing more viewers than the last. But views, she says, now dominate everything. The obligation for every professional to be a content creator is a trap that blurs life and work: no longer a six-day week but “seven for seven”, mostly to the benefit of the tech giants.
From bullied girl to object, and back to subject
Müller describes being badly bullied at school, at a time when she still had a child’s body and spoke up a lot in history class. A year later, as puberty arrived, the same boys suddenly found her attractive. She discovered a kind of power, and used it professionally as a model. But being considered beautiful, she says, also turns an actress into an object instead of a subject, and that always bothered her.
She grew up in a modest family in rural Rio Grande do Sul and was the first in her family to graduate from university. Her father valued education but was a man of his time; he had been so sure his first child would be a boy, named Pablo, that he wrote a letter leaving his car and stereo to “Pablo”. She discovered feminism at university, studying philosophy and sociology. But it was becoming a mother, and experiencing childbirth and obstetric violence, that made patriarchy “obscene” in its clarity.
“I want to be a furious old woman”
At 42, Müller has made a pact with herself to allow her fury. As a white woman who has built a career, she says, the least she can do is get angry, for herself and for others. If she can kick one brick out of the wall of patriarchy, she will. The conversation also turns to the opposite virtue: the power of giving up. In a culture that preaches never quitting, the two friends agree on a motto: sometimes, quit beautifully.