It seems that every few years or so, a film comes along that makes critics and audiences unanimously agree on its technical brilliance and narrative ingenuity. In 1991, we had The Silence of the Lambs. In 1994, The Shawshank Redemption. In 2004, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. In 2010, The Social Network. In 2019, Parasite.
In 2026... You Can See Everything.
It's very rare for me to forget that I am actually watching a film while watching it. Even with films that I view as masterpieces, I am still keenly aware of the filmmaking techniques—editing, cinematography, character arcs—in the present moment. With Nathan Fielder and Lance Oppenheim's You Can See Everything, I was so immersed in the story that my usual awareness evaporated into thin air— although I was consistently blown away by the sheer elegance and unpredictability of what was unfolding on the screen.
Nathan Fielder has already demonstrated terrific instincts when it comes to film and television in shows like The Rehearsal and Nathan for You, so I was curious to see what he would do with a genre-bending documentary about Elizabeth Holmes, the highly controversial founder of Theranos. Rather than a straightforward documentary structure, Fielder finds ways to subvert our expectations brilliantly with an unexpected interwoven narrative that perfectly treads the line between imagination and reality, while serving as an astoundingly bold dissection of psychological manipulation, what the truth really is and unforeseen human connection through deeply critical and complex observation (from Fielder himself).
The haunting intimacy of You Can See Everything is almost impossible to ignore, and it is the type of intimacy that is simultaneously mesmerizing and dangerous. The indecipherable emotional and intellectual sincerity of Holmes and her husband, Billy Evans, yields a style of documentary filmmaking that plays more like a tense narrative thriller, relying solely on chillingly thought-provoking dialogue and Adam Locke-Norton's flawless editing, which acts as a vital character of this story. Because the couple is so indecipherable, the audience is forced to contemplate whether the truth has been staring right at us the entire time or not. Are physical appearances actually deceitful, or do our minds twist deceit into genuine vulnerability?
The film constantly surprises with its captivating narrative turns, immersive camerawork, and an ending that leaves you pondering long after the credits roll. In a way, we as the audience are Fielder. Even when we start by observing something or someone from an objective standpoint, we can eventually start to become entranced by the mysteries of what we're attempting to unveil. Our objectivity slowly transforms into what is almost oblivious attachment. Possible manipulation can be as enticing as a hypnotic spiral, sending us down a path of deep, human connection without us even realizing it.
You Can See Everything is a perfect example of what a documentary can do beyond its traditional filmmaking norms. It is a two-hour-and-fifty-four-minute film that feels like two hours, and carries relevant themes and ideas in the most unconventional manner. Critics and audiences are recognizing its bold approach to the controversial figures it puts on display while admiring its narrative risks that add a whole new layer to our perception of trust, truth, and treachery.
To put it bluntly, You Can See Everything has everything you'd want to possibly see in a film.
