Starring Carol Duarte. In Portuguese and Greek, with English subtitles. Rated 18A

Just as the average Brazilian no longer notices crumbling favelas butting up against gated villas, misogyny is so ingrained in Latin America’s largest nation that the public has become inured to such inconveniences as 15 women being murdered every day, or somebody’s female partner being beaten every few seconds. Having a president who laughingly extolls rape and torture doesn’t help (in any country).

This background is a crucial impetus for making films like The Invisible Life of Eurídice Gusmão, which attempt to illuminate the more regressive aspects of everyday life in Brazil, noting their roots in colonialism and slavery. Domestic violence is a passing part of this family saga, which takes place over something like five decades, but the subject, per the title, is really the medium-firm bigotry of low expectations placed on working-class women. Too bad the movie doesn’t reach its admirable goals.

The streets of early-1950s Rio de Janeiro make an intriguing, if underused, backdrop to a tale of institutional sexism mostly told in repetitive close-ups and coincidental plot elements that don’t hold up to scrutiny, not at an indulgent two hours and 20 minutes. The acting is uneven, the sets slapdash. But the biggest problem, especially for a director as experienced as Madame Satã’s Karim Aïnouz, working from Martha Batalha’s book of the same name, is that its characters aren’t convincingly developed.

The most impressive thing about late-teen Eurídice (soap veteran Carol Duarte) is her aspiration to be a concert pianist. But we’re given no clue as to how her love of classical music flowered in a household run by a milquetoast mom (the coincidentally named Flávia Gusmão) and a stern patriarch (António Fonseca) who views the arts as even more useless than daughters.

Her beloved older sibling Guida (Julia Stockler) is far more headstrong, and heads off with a hunky Greek sailor for a European sojourn. When she returns, with child but sans husband, Dad kicks her out of the house. And Eurídice, now attending music school in Vienna, keeps sending letters to Greece, with no response. She also accepts it when her parents shove her into early marriage to a deceptively meek prig more into chauvinism than Chopin.

The story lopes along with awkward rhythms and iffy coincidences until the late entry of nearly-90 Fernanda Montenegro offers the only real emotional punch. In the end, the film’s unspoken issue isn’t inbred sexism, it’s the Internet. Yes, Brazil still has plenty of social injustice, and now less public funding to address it. But if they’d had Facebook way back when, this family never would have broken up.