You Can See Everything (United States, 2026)

[Spoiler Alert! This review reveals one of the film's surprises, although it's already "out there," so to speak. Nevertheless, reader caution is advised. If you want a completely fresh experience, I recommend seeing the film first.]

In the beginning, You Can See Everything may have been intended as a somewhat straightforward documentary about Theranos CEO Elizabeth Holmes. The seeds of that approach are evident in some of the early scenes. However, the end result is unlike any documentary I have seen, precisely because it isn't one—at least not in a traditional sense. It has more in common with reality TV; although there are non-fiction elements in the final project, it leans heavily into scripted material and improvisation with a huge dollop of meta on top.

Nathan Fielder structures the first third of the film almost as a "hangout" movie, inserting himself into the action. A lot of material that might have ended up on the cutting room floor remains in the final print, offering evidence of the film's shifting priorities. This results in a meandering tendency that represents both a strength and a weakness. While allowing the viewer to become more fully immersed in whatever reality You Can See Everything is creating, it makes the movie feel a little longer than necessary. I'm convinced that more aggressive trimming would not have broken the sense of immersion.

Early in the proceedings, the movie appears to address the question of Holmes' guilt – whether she is truly the woman portrayed in the media, or if that is a misrepresentation amplified by Amanda Seyfried's portrayal in the TV miniseries The Dropout. Fielder and co-director Lance Oppenheim (who recently made his non-documentary feature debut with Primetime) let Holmes tell her story, focusing on her wide-eyed, often-bewildered expression, but they never get a definitive answer—in part because the issue ultimately becomes secondary. The final verdict about Holmes is left up to the viewer: is she a high-functioning autistic individual who was manipulated by everyone around her, or a master manipulator herself? Is this intended to be her confession or a major PR move?

There is compelling material in the first 75 minutes, even if it ultimately serves as a prelude. The film's introductory act provides a fly-on-the-wall perspective of the interactions among the principals: Elizabeth; her partner, Billy Evans; and their two children. Fielder, even when living with them, is always the outsider, and there is an increasing sense that Billy is trying to control the narrative. While Elizabeth remains something of an enigma, he is more transparent—sometimes literally, as evidenced by a full-frontal shower scene that invites all sorts of metaphorical interpretations.

Two scenes in particular stand out. In one, Fielder introduces Elizabeth to the Abbott & Costello "Who's on First?" sketch. Her bemusement when faced with the rapid-fire back-and-forth between the comedians is deeply revealing. Later, she, Fielder, and Billy watch The Dropout for the first time, and we witness her reaction to seeing herself filtered through a fictionalized screenplay and Seyfried's performance.

Then the clock runs out and Elizabeth leaves for prison. With more than 90 minutes remaining, the movie loses its leading lady, and we know she isn't coming back. Like Hitchcock in Psycho, however, Fielder pivots...and what a pivot it is. During the second half, things get truly interesting. Seyfried comes on board both as herself and as Elizabeth in dramatic recreations of unfilmed moments. A detective story emerges, taking the narrative into creatively recursive territory. Much of what happens later in You Can See Everything pushes the story beyond its traditional stopping point; for most people, the Theranos saga ended when Holmes went to prison.

Given Fielder's history as a comedic provocateur, it is no surprise that a fair amount of humor infuses the proceedings. While he is front-and-center—as big a character in his own way as his interview subject—Oppenheim remains mostly off-camera (with the exception of one short sequence in which he plays himself in a recreation). We are neither privy to Oppenheim's role behind the scenes nor shown any interplay between the two filmmakers. This raises the question of how much of what's on screen—even in the early sequences—is real. It would be dangerous to take anything in You Can See Everything at face value because, in fact, there is much we cannot see.

Fielder is fond of using his own reaction shots as punchlines. When Elizabeth proclaims that she never lies, the camera cuts to his flabbergasted expression. Later, once she is incarcerated, the narrative focuses more on his attempts to decode his time with her than on the actual experiences. Without explicitly making the point, the film touches on the dangers of a documentarian becoming entwined with his subject; there is a reason why many non-fiction filmmakers refuse to appear on camera. Fielder's involvement complicates the nature of truth. Not only are we as viewers wrestling with who the real Elizabeth Holmes is, but we are also forced to confront who Nathan Fielder is—and, for that matter, who Amanda Seyfried is.

In the end, we don't know whether we have witnessed something profoundly revealing or if we have been played, at least in part. Therein lies the brilliance: it is possible that not even the filmmakers truly know. The early portions likely stand as voyeuristic chronicles of Holmes' final month of freedom. But the rest of the movie? We can conjecture and guess, yet we are looking through a glass darkly, down the rabbit hole. The fascinating thing about You Can See Everything is its ambiguity—the way it can be perceived differently by everyone who watches it. It asks numerous questions about truth, legitimacy, artifice, and creativity, while answering zero of them. Interpretation is left entirely to the viewer. Fielder and Oppenheim put a great deal of trust in their audience, which is a decided rarity in today's cinema.

You Can See Everything (United States, 2026)