Tragically, her bright flame was extinguished too soon. She passed away at just 48 years old due to complications from diabetes. But in her brief, blazing career on shows like Chico Anysio Show and TV Pirata , she laid the DNA for every future Brazilian female comedian. You can hear her voice in the fearless physicality of a Tatá Werneck, the sharp social commentary of a Dani Calabresa, and the simple, powerful truth that the funniest person in the room is often the one who has lived the most.
Born Regina Duarte (not to be confused with the famous telenovela star of the same name), she adopted the diminutive “Regininha” as a playful act of subversion. There was nothing “little” about her talent. With her raspy, cigarette-scarred voice, mischievous eyes, and a physicality that recalled a jazz musician improvising a solo, she created a gallery of characters that felt less like sketches and more like long-lost aunts you were both terrified and delighted to run into. regininha duarte
But Regininha’s genius was her authenticity. In an industry that demanded actresses be thin, delicate, and demure, she was unapologetically physical. She would jiggle, stumble, snort, and roar with laughter. She broke the fourth wall not as a gimmick, but as a conversation. “Can you believe this?” her eyes seemed to ask the audience, creating an intimacy that made you feel like you were the smartest person in the room. Tragically, her bright flame was extinguished too soon
Regininha Duarte wasn't just funny. She was true . And that’s a kind of comedy they never teach in school. You can hear her voice in the fearless
If you only know Brazilian comedy through the lens of its modern stars, you’ve likely felt the ripples of Regininha Duarte without knowing the source. She wasn’t just a comedian; she was a geological event—a force that cracked the pavement of Rio de Janeiro’s polished, upper-class humor and let the wild, irreverent, and gloriously messy soul of the suburbs come pouring through.
Her most iconic creation, (the quintessential "Carioca" from the working-class neighborhood of Leopoldina), is a masterpiece of observational humor. Dressed in ill-fitting, brightly colored spandex, with a bandana holding back her frizzy hair, Sueli wasn't a punchline. She was the punchline, the setup, and the drunk, wise aunt laughing at her own joke at 2 AM. Sueli talked about men, work, and survival with a cynical, loving, and brutally honest lens that had never been seen on Brazilian television, which was then dominated by prim and proper caricatures.