There’s an unending trove of content about Elizabeth Holmes. The classic Icarus story where the reaction ranges from “Oh yeah, of course that was gonna happen” to “Why did no one do the diligence on Theranos? Are they stupid?”. She’s a lightning rod attracting all comers due to her carefully curated persona and by virtue of being a differentiated female entrepreneur attempting to do the impossible at the confluence of hardware, biology, and software. So much ink has been spilled that it’s a wonder that Nathan Fielder’s You Can See Everything manages to find any unexplored perspective at all. But somehow, that’s exactly what he does in the most unexpected ways.

The whole premise of having unfiltered access to Holmes prior to her incarceration seems a feat in and of itself. It’s here the viewer first gets an inkling that this is an unholy circumstance. Fielder poses this question, asking if she chose him because he doesn’t have a science background. Holmes doesn’t answer the question directly but instead champions her supposed openness. Holmes and her husband, Billy Evans are highly educated new parents. Exposing their lives in such a precarious moment is an odd act amplified by the tidal wave of wrongdoing that Holmes was convicted with. As the documentary (reality TV?) unravels, it becomes more apparent that there are numerous forces at play. Were we really to expect anything different from someone who hoodwinked heavyweights on the daily.

Fielder starts off with a clear eyed exposition into the family’s day-to-day, bringing into horrifically magnified view the social awkwardness of Holmes and the commandeering bravado of Evans; we get a sense of a partnership that is probably not unlike a lot of new yuppies moving into the next stage of adulthood. There is constant baby pandering, jockeying over chores, and tired but loving glances. If nothing else, it’s clear that the pairing is rock solid albeit peculiar. Fielder presents the narrative that begins to sympathize with Holmes while portraying Evans as a hypermasculine, interrupting, and manipulative partner. The central conflict is that Evans hid the A24 deal from Holmes so he could profit off the movie. By the time of this revelation, the viewer has been well primed to hate Evans. A further conversation between Fielder, Evans, and Amanda Seyfried nails him in broad daylight.

I couldn’t believe that Fielder found a way for me to quickly side with Holmes. Holmes presented as just a person who cared too much. We are taught from grade school that this is an admirable quality, a most American one. Holmes simply failed to see how that could come at the expense of investors. But these are rich investors! No one’s out here duping the nail salon down the road. She believed unabashedly that she could do things and just ran out of time to meet her aspirations. Ok, I’m on board with the narrative that she just got out over her skis and not a true deviant.

And then in the final 20 minutes, Fielder gets us to question it all. The “all” most in question here being his own POV. Holmes has been deft with her defense, and seemingly earnest in her pleading with us that she still sees a way forward and wants to keep building her dream even with her prison sentence. So much so that Fielder instead redirects our gaze towards the ever-available and less discussed husband. Once Billy comes into the picture, Fielder gets our claws to slowly protrude from our knuckles. He’s a smarmy, rich, handsome man. Someone who gives arrogance without a breath. Surely he’s another Holmes manipulator, using her fame to launch his own rocket. The collective gasp at his Charlie Kirk fandom sealed his fate among viewers that this film likely panders to. It isn’t until we’re rocked back into focus with Holmes being questioned over Evans’ under-the-table dealmaking with A24 that we begin to waver in our knowledge of the events. Seyfried steals the show by yanking the viewer back to reality as she comes to grips with the idea that Holmes might have been complicit with Evans about the A24 contract all along. Fielder is left to contemplate this as the viewer is presented with a long shot of Holmes swimming with Fielder to end the feature.

Whether Fielder created his unreliability as a narrator after the fact is unclear, but the payoff is immense. It’s not hard to envision being an investor and being coaxed into Holmes’ dreams. It’s also not hard to buy that she’s been manipulated by Sunny Balwani (her business partner) and now by Billy Evans. Holmes is disarming with her confidence, but also with her seeming social naivete. Fielder makes himself and by extension the audience, susceptible in a tight rope act that makes the viewer question the work of journalism itself. Fielder isn’t a documentarian, he’s a comedian. And that much is clear. He draws a whole bunch of laughs from his deadpan, but that belies what his work really gnaws away at.

Yes, Holmes is a convicted felon. But she’s also a mother with a scheming husband. Yes, she’s conned investors out of a half billion dollars in venture capital but she just wanted to realize a noble vision. Beyond it all, is she capable of recognizing herself? Are we able to see the fallacy of our ways? Or is the ever closer sun of our own making too blinding for us to see. Perhaps we just blame the sun for our flaws knowing that is a palatable compromise that our willing audience knows how to digest. Holmes understands this game far too well, and I for one just devoured a fat serving of the Crème Brûlée.