We thought we knew everything about the Theranos scandal. Between John Carreyrou’s reporting, the Hulu miniseries, and endless podcasts, the downfall of Elizabeth Holmes felt like an open-and-shut case of Silicon Valley hubris. Then Nathan Fielder walked into her beachside home.
His new documentary, You Can See Everything, co-directed with Lance Oppenheim and distributed by A24, premiered to gasps at Telluride before landing at the New York Film Festival. It isn't a standard, by-the-numbers true crime recap. Instead, it captures thirty-four days before Holmes reported to federal prison, morphing into a bizarre three-year psychological odyssey that leaves even the master of awkward reality television completely disoriented.
Most people expect Fielder to expose Holmes or outsmart her with deadpan satire. Reality is much stranger. Fielder didn't initially plan to appear on camera, but the sheer weirdness of living in the guest house of Holmes and her partner Billy Evans pulled him right into the frame. You watch Fielder interview Holmes from a bed or a bathroom, trying to figure out if she's performing authenticity or if her entire life is an unyielding act.
"I am still struggling to this day to understand what I went through," Fielder admitted during a post-screening Q&A.
That confusion is precisely why the film works. When Holmes looks at Fielder and says, "I'm always being real," the statement hangs in the air like a glitch in the matrix. You know she is a convicted fraudster. You know her corporate empire was built on a foundation of empty promises and fake blood-testing machines. Yet, sitting across from a filmmaker known for manufacturing elaborate social ruses, Holmes projects a disarming sincerity that messes with your internal compass.
The project started simply. Oppenheim and Fielder heard through an acquaintance that Holmes wanted someone to document her life as her freedom ticked away. Fielder read Bad Blood and figured the story had been milked dry, but his curiosity got the better of him. A24 gave the filmmakers total freedom, telling them they could scrap the footage entirely if nothing came of it.
Instead of walking away, they stayed. They realized they had a real movie on their hands when the production crew itself fractured into arguments over what was actually happening inside the house. When seasoned, highly intelligent people cannot agree on whether someone is lying to their face or genuinely delusional, you have stepped past standard documentary territory and into uncharted psychological waters.
This tension makes the film a brilliant interrogation of the medium itself. Documentaries rely on the illusion of objective truth. They frame a narrative, edit the footage, and tell the audience what to think. By turning the lens on Holmes during her final moments of civilian life—and dragging Fielder's awkward persona into the crossfire—the film exposes how easily reality bends under scrutiny. Amanda Seyfried, who famously played Holmes in The Dropout, even pops up in the film as herself and in character, adding another layer of meta-commentary on how public figures get mythologized.
Critics have thrown around words like boundary-pushing and masterclass in deceit. They aren't exaggerating. The movie avoids easy moralizing. It doesn't offer neat conclusions or neatly packaged closure. It forces you to sit in the discomfort of not knowing who to trust.
If you're going into theaters on October 16 expecting a definitive takedown of Silicon Valley's most notorious founder, adjust your expectations. You're going to get something much more unsettling. You're going to watch two architects of illusion try to decode each other until the boundaries completely dissolve.
Grab your ticket, clear your schedule, and prepare to question every documentary you watch from here on out.
