Good Manners, a criminally underrated 2017 release, follows the story of two women, both navigating certain expectations regarding their race and class, who form an unlikely friendship and an even more unlikely romance.

Admittedly, I am an outsider to the in-depth, constantly changing politics of Brazil and Brazilian culture, but I would be remiss to say that I can’t see the similarities between it and the current state of the U.S.; most notably, the rise of a xenophobic, homophobic, racist, sexist administration that has no reservations in admitting that it works almost entirely in the interests of its own, and the abhorrent treatment of black people at the hands of these societies.

These charged conversations of race and class are not outliers and have been discussed about over and over again by both Brazilian and American activists, especially during and after the rise of the alt-right monster and Brazilian President Jair Bolsonaro; but it’s not often that these things are approached (tactfully) in mainstream media that isn’t the news. It’s especially not tackled much in the somewhat-niche groove of horror, where, even for movies like Candyman, Get Out, and Us, addressing timely social topics is still few and far between.

Enter Good Manners, a film released in 2017 that not only deconstructs class and racial disparities in Brazil, but for good measure, also throws in a werewolf.

A quick and dirty history lesson on the racial makeup of the country: Brazil, though it boasts a black population in the millions and has the distinction of being one of the most ethnically diverse countries on the planet, faces an interesting dilemma in terms of race. Race in Brazil is constructed mostly by the features and skin tone that is easily identifiable on a person. On the 2011 Brazilian census, 43% percent of the population identified as pardo (mixed race)—a whopping eighty-six million people, for context—and within this group, 30% of respondents noted themselves as definitively having a black ancestor.

Afro-Brazilians hover around a population of about fifteen million. In a country that, at one point, imported four-million African slaves, was colonized by Portuguese invaders and displaced hundreds of thousands of indigenous peoples, race is bound to get a little bewildering. What is less bewildering, however, is that though less than half the population of Brazil identifies as white, the reality is that light-skinned, white passing Brazilians still dominate the upper, wealthy class.

Much like black people in America, black Brazilians are more likely to be targeted by the police (who were responsible for one out of every six homicides in Rio de Janeiro in 2015) they are more likely to be concentrated in neighborhoods far away from wealthy areas, where white people dominate by upwards of 90%, according to a map that tracked segregation in the country, and the average earnings for a white Brazilian is 50% higher than for a black Brazilian. Because of the worldwide perpetuation of white supremacy by relegating dark-skinned people to the lower rungs of society, Brazil is no different from other countries in their discrimination towards dark skin.

Where there is a white-passing, wealthy Brazilian, there is often a dark-skinned domestic worker or nanny, called babas in Brazil, to be found: Brazil, may be racially diverse, but it’s very clear that colorism relegates dark-skinned people into service jobs, and Good Manners makes a point not to shy away from the lived reality of hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of black people in the country.

In the film, we follow the lives of two women: Clara (Isabél Zuaa), a down-on-her-luck domestic worker that lives on the outskirts of São Paulo, where the rent is always due, but there’s never enough money, and her rich client Ana (Marjorie Estiano), a scatterbrained white Brazilian woman harboring a dark secret. Within minutes, we are privy to the differences in the lives of Ana and Clara; for Clara, the trip to her client’s neighborhood is a long, involved process, that requires her to walk through shady, potentially dangerous looking areas, especially at night. When she arrives at Ana’s apartment, although Clara doesn’t disclose to the doorman her purpose for being there, he makes her take the service entrance.

There’s no skirting around the fact that Ana occupies such a position of privilege, a position that is so often rewarded to lighter-skinned people, that it’s almost infuriating to watch at times; while Clara bustles with housework, cleaning Ana’s clothes, setting up the new nursery and even having to paint the walls (for much less than she’s getting paid), and doing all of these things so she can finally afford to finish her medical degree, Ana’s in front of the television, dancing to an online Zumba class video. In public, Ana fills her time by buying expensive heels at an upscale mall, while Clara is relegated to carrying her bags and her old shoes which she no longer thinks are in style.

After Clara tries to strike up a conversation while they are waiting for the elevator together, Ana seems embarrassed to speak to Clara, and almost enraged that her domestic worker dare attempt to talk to her as equals in public. It’s terribly obvious to see the way class and race interacts in such a way, with the over-dressed, high-fashion Ana standing next to Clara, a dark-skinned woman sporting her short natural hair and a plain t-shirt and jeans, that it’s sometimes hard to watch; with that being said, this is the life for many dark-skinned women in Brazil.

We begin to understand and empathize with Ana when the film decides to reveal scraps of information about her, both with and without her consent. We get the sense that not all things are right in her fairy-tale perfect life when her credit card starts getting declined, and Clara discloses to her that the landlord called, explaining that Ana hasn’t paid the rent. This leads up to the night in which Ana gets drunk (while heavily pregnant, not recommended), and reveals to Clara that she is alone in this fight; with this new information, Ana is changed from ditzy rich lady to the sympathetic oppressor.

She has been completely abandoned by her family for refusing to go through with an abortion, and is struggling financially, unable to rely on her fiancé nor her family. And, while all of this is happening, Ana begins to show signs of increasingly erratic behavior, culminating in the night that Clara returns from a bar (and declines sexual advances by another woman) only to find Ana standing in front of the fridge, presumably looking for something raw, red and meaty to consume.

As Clara tries to comfort her, Ana initiates an intense make-out session. Their relationship quickly progresses from professional to reluctant friends to sexual encounters, to something like a romantic partnership, as the two women find comfort in each other, and the film takes a surprising twist. Good Manners is not only a story in the vein of Parasite, highlighting the disparities found in class status; it is also a romance.

Unfortunately, for all the barriers this movie breaks in talking candidly about class, race and LGBT issues in Brazil, it still falls victim to the age-old trope that seemingly refuses to die, the dreaded Bury Your Gays. Within days of Clara and Ana starting their relationship, the full moon arrives. And Clara comes home to find that the baby, transformed into a monstrous wolf-hybrid creature, has clawed itself out of Ana and violently killed her.

The second act of the movie focuses completely on Clara and her strained relationship with the now seven-year-old wolf-boy, and baby of her late partner, named Joel. However, Ana does appear in one or two flashbacks, and Clara keeps a picture of her in a shoebox hidden away from Joel; on the nights where her son, influenced by the full moon, turns into a werewolf, Clara removes this picture of a smiling Ana, and listens to the song that played on the night they made love.

Over the past few years since this movie has been released, Good Manners feels like a film that only gets timelier with age. Under the current administration run by Jair Bolsonaro, a man who has stated that he’d rather have a dead son, than a gay son, who has threatened LGBT Brazilians with violence, and who has been spurred on and pushed to the presidency by a resurgence of right-wing ideology, the story of Clara and Ana is not only a refreshing reminder of the beauty to be found in same-sex love stories, but the ways that horror can explore the boundaries of topical issues. It’s heartening to see Ana and Clara develop their relationship from a power imbalance to equals, and it’s even better to see that Ana, even in her darkest hour, is able to be generous towards Clara, by helping her finance her education.

Horror is only as good as the people who create it, and in this case, I think directors Marco Dutra and Juliana Rojas have created something that needs to go in the annals of horror history; Good Manners is nothing short of spectacular, and covers such a wide range of relevant topics, from race and class to LGBT rights that I could probably write a second op-ed on the importance of identity and self-actualization in the character of Joel, as we follow his journey in the latter half of the film.

And as we navigate these tumultuous times, Good Manners serves as not only an example, but as a reminder of what can be accomplished when we decide to fight for the rights of others, support each other and love without boundaries, even in the face of a blatant governing body or society that does the exact opposite.