You Can See Everything

Movies don’t come much wilder than “You Can See Everything,” Nathan Fielder and Lance Oppenheim’s brilliant, up-close-and-personal documentary about convicted fraudster Elizabeth Holmes that’s already the talker of the year.

It’s often funny, even if the questions that it raises about truth, reality and knowledge can make it feel like a tragedy — few movies speak as uncannily to the pathos and destabilizing confusions of the present moment.

Don't go into this movie expecting to have answers to any questions you might have about either Holmes or Fielder, because you'll just end up coming out with more questions. But somehow, that's actually incredibly satisfying.

Not just the film of the year—it’s a documentary that stands shoulder-to-shoulder with the form’s all-time greats.

You Can See Everything is a stunning reevaluation of what documentaries are capable of. It’s a wild ride, filled with more twists and turns than your average thriller.

What begins as a fascinatingly intimate portrait of a deluded or disingenuous scammer reveals as something even wilder, more ambitious and less predictable, until we’re left to ponder what value a personal truth has at all.

You Can See Everything has some inventive touches, and no matter what, it’s remarkable that Fielder and Oppenheim were able to keep the film a secret for the three-plus years they were working on it. But they haven’t revolutionized the documentary film; they’ve only reinforced what distinguishes a novelty from a work of genius, mere cleverness and snark from true depth of perception. Their movie feels more like a product they’ve brought to market than an example of the documentarian’s art.

I dont know how i will go through life knowing i will never see a movie this good ever again

Way too long and not sure why people love this movie First half with Elizabeth and family and the second half is at least a little funny

While some films leave you feeling enriched, You Can See Everything leaves you with the distinct, frustrating feeling of having lost 174 precious minutes of your life. To be fair, the project comes wrapped in flattering window-dressing. On a purely technical level, the cinematography is excellent, and the interviewer’s approach deserves a nod for asking sharp, pertinent questions. But this shiny storefront mostly acts as a smoke screen for a film that has inexplicably triggered waves of breathless, glowing praise from professional critics. People swoon over the aesthetic choices, conveniently forgetting that beneath the polish, the actual viewing experience is an endurance test. Take the use of the 4/3 aspect ratio: while it effectively reinforces the tone, such a heavy stylistic stance raises questions about objective documentary storytelling. Was this visual gimmick decided in post-production, or was it slapped on from the start—before the filmmakers could possibly know how events would unfold? On top of that, the musical score is so oppressively omnipresent during the first part that one has to wonder if the film's enthusiastic champions somehow sat through an accidental parody. However, the ultimate grievance lies in how the narrative handles its core investigation. While the critical establishment applauds the film's so-called "audacious pacing," dragging a thin premise out over nearly three hours through endless lulls feels less like high art and more like an exercise in frustration. Ultimately, behind festival complacency and a stunning visual coat of paint lies a grueling marathon of boredom. The true mystery of this wildly over-praised film isn't the central case itself, but how on earth so many people managed to applaud such a drawn-out experience.

A total con job by Fielder and Holmes. Not once does Fielder confront her with the mountains of evidence that came out at the trial that she intentionally fabricated Theranos’ financials, blood testing process, and much else in a pathetic defense that tried to shift the blame to her partner. Fielder knew all this, as it was clearly shown in Gibney’s excellent documentary that preceded this manipulative attempt to show her as a naïve, well meaning victim. Instead, Fielder focuses on whether she misunderstood the meaning of the word “can” or the interpretation of a comedy routine. Humbug. How about the facts as presented in sworn testimony. The only person who comes out with a shred of dignity is Amanda Seyfried. Fielder, who was clearly infatuated with her, comes off as much of a con artist as she is.

This is a movie marketing stunt masquerading as a documentary. Turns out that Holmes considered herself constrained by the court from discussing the underlying fraud allegations. But nowhere does the film indicate that at all. So what the film promises is unprecedented access to Holmes, allowing viewers to observe her behavior and judge her credibility for themselves, but what it delivers is substantially less: unprecedented access to Holmes, yes, but constrained from discussing the underlying fraud allegations, so its examination of her credibility largely consists of observing her behavior outside the context of those allegations. Wow, I get to assess her demeanor while viewing the Who’s On First routine—fantastic! And bogus. It seems pretty clear that this was a deliberate deception by the filmmakers. After all, how interested would you be in a movie where Holmes basically wouldn’t discuss her case in any detail? Playing up Evans as a manipulator and the subplot about payment for participation are just diversions from the big fail at the center of the movie.