Between triumphalism and fact, Brazil 70 is the spectacle the three-time champion national team deserves.
Netflix’s production goes beyond the legends on the field to tell a story that is, above all, about the passion for soccer and national symbols.
It’s almost impossible that you’ve never heard an older person — parents or grandparents — say that the greatest team in the history of Brazil and of soccer was the 1970 squad. Pelé, Gerson, Tostão, Jairzinho, and all the others became symbols that haunted every national team call-up that came after. It’s no surprise — and it even took a while to happen — that, on the eve of the 2026 World Cup, we finally get this story told. Brasil 70: The Saga of the Third Title, Netflix’s new miniseries, follows the steps of the Seleção and the country in that era, while also, of course, giving a little wink to the current moment.
Like any great sports chronicle, the production chooses its characters and, from them and the facts, lets the imagination bloom with all the excess that Brazil’s national passion allows. Telling stories whose ending we already know, much like the articles that followed victories and defeats in the newspapers of the time, is no easy task. How do you keep audiences invested in a plot whose ending, twists, and triumphs are already predictable? Brasil 70 takes the best possible route by making the magical triangle formed by Pelé (Lucas Agrícola), João Saldanha (Rodrigo Santoro), and Zagallo (Bruno Mazzeo) its main driving force.
Amid the whirlwind surrounding the national team’s trip to the World Cup in Mexico, those three were the central figures. The King of Soccer was doubted and written off by some. Saldanha built the team and qualified Brazil for the World Cup, but was ultimately removed from the job because of his clashes with the Military Dictatorship, which also pulled the strings behind the scenes of Brazilian soccer through João Havelange (Nelson Baskerville). Zagallo stepped in for João under a cloud of suspicion, but he had always had Pelé’s heart on his side.
The trio’s archetypes are very clearly defined, and the script handles both patriotic fervor and historical facts — whether precise or fictionalized — perfectly in order to intertwine their journeys. The writing manipulates the viewer’s emotions with precision, whether to make us love, hate, suspect, or understand each man’s drama. With Pelé, we get the journey of a broken hero, carrying the weight of being the King and needing to understand his role between being a soccer idol and being the image the military used as a sign of progress in a country socially falling apart. Saldanha, in turn, is the hothead who goes head-to-head with the system, but carries a deep love for his country and the crest on his chest. Zagallo, meanwhile, is the “new guy” who has to prove, amid his eccentricities, that he has what it takes to be a winner.
Everything becomes even more intense thanks to the cast. The main trio strikes a strong balance between precise physical characterization and the freedom to create intimate moments we’ve never seen before. The resemblance between Lucas Agrícola and Pelé is astonishing. Without slipping into caricature, but preserving his trademark phrases and expressions, the actor gives the King of Soccer a human dimension that allows for a gradual ascent to the Olympus of this god of sport. The same goes for Santoro, who, alongside Marcelo Adnet, also becomes the voice narrating the team’s path through the tournament. The entire cast deserves praise, it should be said. The character work — especially Fillipe Soutto as Gérson, Gui Ferraz as Jairzinho, Daniel Blanco as Rivelino, and Caio Cabral as Carlos Alberto Torres — is excellent and is elevated even further by the production’s technical quality.
Rarely has soccer been portrayed on screen as well as it is in Brasil 70. The direction of the match scenes and the recreation of iconic moments outclass other productions about the sport, like Ted Lasso, for example. The filmmakers’ passion for the sport is unmistakable: the plays are given a visual treatment that borders on superhero stories and anime, taking on a mythical quality. The use of slow motion, even if excessive at times, brings to the screen that breath-holding feeling when a goal or an incredible play happens. It’s a portrayal that leaves a mark on the memory of any sports fanatic.
This audiovisual sports chronicle also broadens its scope to talk about superstition, heroes, and tragedies of the past, as in the excellent episode that revisits the trauma of the 1950 World Cup and the injustice that haunted goalkeeper Barbosa, a historic figure for Vasco da Gama and Brazilian soccer, until the end of his life. The darkness of the Military Dictatorship also shadows the journey, with uniformed and armed soldiers appearing in nearly every setting, in Brazil and in Mexico, showing their direct influence on the team’s daily life and on its biggest star, in addition to the regime’s obvious oppression in the country’s streets.
Brasil 70, then, draws a parallel with Brazil in 2026. Just days before the start of the current World Cup, the national team is going through a similar moment of distrust. The great idol of the current generation is also being questioned by a large part of the media and the fans. On top of that, the symbol of the Brazilian national team, the famous yellow jersey, just like in the 1970 World Cup, has been hijacked by patriotic rhetoric that defends a state above the law and the people’s rights.
As the final approaches, João Saldanha makes it clear that no matter who tries to claim the green and yellow, in the end the Brazilian national team jersey will always belong to the people — the ones who paint the streets, who cry and get emotional (and who get a charming representation in the series through a couple who travels to Mexico by the skin of their teeth).
Brasil 70: The Saga of the Third Title is a pop work, with a frenetic pace that strongly recalls Senna (also from Netflix) at times, but proves even more accomplished in what it sets out to do. The series moves not only because of Pelé and his teammates’ triumph, but because it revives a feeling that was taken from us after the 7–1 loss to Germany and the political period that followed. The feeling of becoming once again naïve, passionate fans, unashamed to admit that yes, we do care about the Brazilian national team, our symbols, and the territory we have always dominated: the World Cup.