Director: Nathan Fielder, Lance Oppenheim
Cast: Elizabeth Holmes, Nathan Fielder, Billy Evans
174 mins. Rated R for language and some graphic nudity.

What’s a documentary? In fact, what the hell are movies? I don’t know anymore, not after witnessing the pure unadulterated insanity that is You Can See Everything. I know things in the movie business have seemed dark with AI and weird business bros gobbling up companies, but I don’t want to hear about the “death of cinema” while films like this exist.

Much like Digger, there’s not a ton I can fully divulge on the new Nathan Fielder/Lance Oppenheim documentary You Can See Everything. The doc covers the month before Elizabeth Holmes’s incarceration back in 2023 from the perspective of Fielder who eventually found himself living in the residence of Holmes and partner Billy Evans during the final few days and trying to discover exactly what was going on in her head throughout the Theranos debacle and the resulting aftermath. The marketing has mostly centered a one or two distinct conversations during this time, but if you know Nathan Fielder, you also know there’s a lot more happening in this film, and I’ll leave it at that. The rest of this piece, I promise, will feel as unhinged as the actual film, so maybe that’ll give you the sense of just what the hell this movie is.

You Can See Everything is probably the greatest discovery viewing experience of 2026, meaning that this movie had a distinctly weird effect on me as it unraveled. I had the sensation of being drugged, being paranoid, being uncertain about what was real or imaginary. Sure, on the surface, so much of this movie feels pretty straightforward, but there’s a moment when the narrative becomes something…different. It begins folding in on itself in a very Nathan Fielder way, and I became very much like Fielder, wondering about how authentic and genuine Elizabeth Holmes was during these interview segments, whether there was any manipulation on the part of Billy Evans, or if she was having a similar effect on them. Does she not understand why she’s going to prison? Seriously?

Nathan spends a lot of his time asking questions about the nature of lies, mistruths, the way words are interpreted, going as far as to show a classic Abbott & Costello sketch to Elizabeth and Billy in order to get her to understand why clear and concise wording is important, and it seems to have no effect on her. It’s a jarring moment that the film continues to build on.

Nathan Fielder understands awkward moments, and he knows when he has overstayed his welcome, but he just doesn’t care. He’s a one-of-a-kind storyteller and interviewer, and he continues to push his subjects toward realization and confrontation here. He wants to understand, but I don’t think he’s ever come to terms with subjects like these and the nature of his work is much more difficult when dealing with Holmes and Evans.

At several points in You Can See Everything, I felt like screaming. I was literally vibrating leaving the theater. I’m still not sure what I’ve seen and how it all came together, and outside of an ending that leaves just a few too many lingering questions, this is a purely experiential type of documentary that has to be seen to be believed. It’s certainly the most unique documentary I’ve seen in a long time, and it’s bloated run time actually moves pretty fast, especially when the pieces start coming together and the realization sets in that something else is going on in this film. I’m being as vague as possible here, but know that this is still all about Elizabeth Holmes, even when it’s not, and the experience is better not having known anything going in. I can’t wait to watch this again, especially if I can see it with someone else who has not, purely to re-experience these moments fresh. You Can See Everything is a testament that, no, we haven’t finished movie-making yet, and original ideas are still out there, even in the documentary format. Now, if only those people clamoring for original ideas actually get off their asses and go see it.

4½/5
-Kyle A. Goethe

For more Lance Oppenheim: Primetime