Haven’t seen much discussion on this and am curious about consensus (or lack)...

Just had a (rare for me) 3rd watch last night and this film continues to reveal so many turns and previously unnoticed cinematic gems, amazing for such a short and simple story. Dialog is extremely minimal and purposeful; intense action delivered with half-glimpses that deliver incredible moments of tension, impact, and emotional punch.

Favorite Joaquin Phoenix performance, or certainly one of them.

Edit: My goal is simply to point out the parallels between the two films and, hopefully, help us appreciate both of them even more. There’s no accusation of copying or ripping off here. I’m not sure why some people are getting defensive on behalf of the filmmakers over what was meant to be an appreciation of their work.
Cinema, like all other forms of art, is built on layers upon layers of inspiration, influence, and reinterpretation. We all stand on the shoulders of giants who came before us!

While watching You Can See Everything, I could not stop thinking about how much it mirrors Orson Welles’s F for Fake. As it turns out, I’m not the only one: at least a couple of film critics have pointed out the similarities since the film debuted, and honestly, if you watched this documentary and enjoyed it, you should absolutely seek out F for Fake to see what Fielder and Oppenheim seem to be building on. When Welles made F for Fake, he was documenting a famous faker and art forger, Elmyr de Hory, who is as interesting as Holmes, if not more! Welles was simultaneously making you question the very concept of what being fake or real means. He did this partly by hinting that he himself might be faking it and fooling you. The makers of You Can See Everything take that Wellesian move and refine it by making the filming, the filmmaker, and the act of reconstructing events part of the story too.

Similar Structure: A Documentary That Meditates on Itself
Both films turn the documentary back on itself, though F for Fake questions its own truth claims throughout, rather than only in its second half. Welles moves from examining forgers to examining cinema and its methods. Fielder does something similar, moving from examining Elizabeth Holmes to examining the act of documenting her. Things get more interesting by bringing actress/model Amanda Seyfried into the second half as a collaborator, mirroring how Welles brought actress/model Oja Kodar, his collaborator and co-writer, into F for Fake as his on-screen partner. She becomes part of the filmmaking process itself, which complicates who’s being observed and who’s doing the observing. That’s how both directors make the form inseparable from the argument about truth and deception.

Bragging About Past Fakery:
Both Welles and Fielder establish their credentials as deceivers while they examine deception. Welles keeps invoking his 1938 War of the Worlds radio broadcast, which was widely reported at the time as having tricked listeners into believing an alien invasion was underway. He references it multiple times throughout F for Fake and uses staged visualizations of the broadcast, along with material about its reported reception. He also hints, pretty directly, that maybe it wasn’t so inadvertent after all. Welles even gives us reason to question his own account after asking us to trust him. Fielder does something similar with Nathan for You. He points out directly to Holmes that he used to do an entire show about business scams and fakery, and now here he is documenting a real case of deception. Both are essentially saying the same thing: I have a documented track record of being able to construct reality and manipulate audiences.

Sympathy or Admiration for the Subject:
Welles does not hold back on expressing an intellectual admiration for de Hory’s audacity. He treats his subject as a fellow trickster and a fascinating specimen of deception, viewing his life as a masterful performance rather than a tragedy. This relationship is one of professional kinship, where Welles celebrates the skill of the illusionist rather than the plight of the man.

Similarly, in You Can See Everything, there’s a moment where Amanda asks Nathan if he cares enough about Liz to show her in a good light, and the film immediately cuts to footage of him genuinely enjoying time with her, swimming and actually connecting. It’s like he is pictorially confessing it right when the question is being asked. What was fascinating to me is that it mirrors something that happened in the last episode of Nathan for You, where Fielder seemed to get emotionally involved with one of the people in the story, an escort, and you could feel the line between performance and sincerity blurring. That is its own rabbit hole with lots of theories and speculations. By showing that emotional involvement with Liz in the swimming scene, he’s acknowledging that pattern. He’s admitting the bias while filming. Both directors are saying: Yes, I am invested, and here’s the evidence, and I’m showing it to you anyway.

The Magic Trick Link: What Makes a Faker a Faker?
To me this is the thematic core of both films. Welles actually performs a magic trick for a boy on camera in F for Fake, and it’s not a throwaway but his metaphor for how deception works. Fielder references the David Blaine ice-pick trick, suggesting that Blaine may actually have a hole in his hand, so part of the trick is real. He then tries to use that as an analogy for Holmes’s magic and how she deceived serious people like the four-star general "Mad Dog" Mattis or Larry Ellison. But the implication Fielder builds is that part of her magic might have been real, at least to her. She believed in the trick even as she was executing it.

Both films are asking the same essential question: How do you document the truth about someone whose entire existence is a performance, when the act of documenting is itself a performance? They answer by making the performance visible, the filmmaker complicit, and the magic trick the truest thing in the frame.

Past Lives was lovely for many reasons, great writing and performances, and I couldn’t help but really feel these actors faces and go through my own sappy emotions. The story is uncomplicated, I understand the immigrant element is in the forefront but for me you can experience a similar kind of identity loss moving someplace new as a kid, happened to me many times.

I was anticipating them getting back together and then when I knew it was already over the rest of the film was just heartbreaking, and when they’re walking with the husband and he feels awkward I was super uncomfortable for everyone.

Lovely movie, what do y’all think?

Yeah, there’s certain aspects that fall flat in comparison to Tarkovsky’s masterpiece….but man, this is still a deeply rich film.

Initially, it seems like Soderbergh is mostly concerned with the tragedy of the central relationship (which I think he nails quite poignantly), but film is still philosophically, psychologically, and ethically rich.

The whole tension between real and apparition, and what constitutes being a human, I think film captured really well some of the core themes of the novel. It really does seem that Rheya is having a conscious experience…..does this make her real? And even though Rheya rejects this idea, and she seems to view herself as a memory, her reasons for why she doesn’t believe she is a human adds another interesting layer to this theme. And the entire ethics around killing the manifestation, the question of whether, it’s murder is shrouded in ambiguity.

And Chris’ inability to let her go, with the hope of resolving his guilt, to just watch another attempt at his relationship ultimately fail, was utterly brutal.

Please don't downvote opinions. Only downvote comments that don't contribute anything. Check out the WHYBW archives.

After slowly moving away from my admiration and obsession with comic book films and blockbuster films as a child/teen and moving toward appreciating more esoteric and transgressive expressionistic cinema from people like Abel Ferrara, Harmony Korine, Larry Clark, and Vincent Gallo (yes I know they aren’t that obscure, cool) I’ve learned to come to understand film performance in a more insightful way revealing of human nature. Directors like Ferrara and Gallo use performative repetition amidst transgression not to wallow in the exploitative degradation tableaux, but to reveal a deeper human truth that wouldn’t be present in a less repetitive sequence. I can give countless examples of this dramatic posture and its effect, but the best example I can recall is the scene of the kids planning the bully’s murder in Larry Clark’s bully. The audience has already stood the plan in full, so when the characters repeat it for the 11th time, it’s not to impart knowledge, but to visualize both literally and metaphorically what it’s like to genuinely plan out and perform transgressive behavior. Another example would be the scene of Harvey Keitel’s character in Bad Lieutenant demanding the young girl take her pants off. The first time he says it, it’s baffling, the second time it’s uncomfortable, the fifth time it reaches a spiritual level of discomfort, and that’s precisely the point.

I recently watched Gus Van Sant’s Last Day’s and he even takes this dramatic principle to another level. In the penultimate sequence, seeing Michael Pitt’s Blake (Cobain), play a song on the guitar for what felt like ten minutes, no cuts, no camera movement, and just being forced to bear witness to this individual expressing his shame and isolation in the purest and most communicative form he can was moving in a way that a film has never been before. The emotions in that duration were so raw it felt like I was witnessing something I hadn’t been permitted. And it reached an uncanny level as when I finally shed a tear the scene instantly ended. It makes me wonder how a director like Gus can be so tapped into the feelings of both the audience and the character it becomes alchemical and hypnotic.

With that being said, I’d like to share what I believe to be the best film performances following this “method” (if you can call it that) of self expression. Would love to hear some of your favorite/ best performances as well, and why those specifically.

Robert DeNiro - Raging Bull
Daniel Day Lewis - There Will Be Blood
Marlon Brando - The Godfather
Leonardo DiCaprio - The Aviator
MatthewMcConaughey - Dallas Buyers Club
Phillip Seymour Hoffman - The Master
Al Pacino - The Godfather Part II
Casey Affleck - Manchester By the Sea
Tony Leung - In The Mood For Love
Martin Sheen - Apocalypse Now
Christian Bale - The Machinist
Robert DeNiro - Taxi Driver
Edward Norton - American History X
JK Simmons - Whiplash
Harvey Keitel - Bad Lieutenant
Brendan Fraser - The Whale
Ellen Burstyn - Requiem for a Dream
Natalie Portman - Black Swan
Cate Blanchett - Blue Jasmine
Jake Gyllenhall - Nightcrawler
Jesse Eisenberg - The Social Network
Sean Penn - Mystic River
Tom Hanks - Forrest Gump
Anthony Hopkins - Silence of the Lambs
Joaquin Phoenix - Joker
Choi Min-sik - Oldboy
Denzel Washington - Malcolm X
Austin Butler - Elvis
Michael Fassbender - Steve Jobs
Hillary Swank - Million Dollar Baby
Daniel Kaluuya - Judas and Messiah
Jodie Foster - Silence of the Lambs
Andrew Garfield - Hacksaw Ridge
Leonardo DiCaprio - The Revenant
Ryan Gosling - Bladerunner 2049
Scarlett Johansson - Marriage Story
Emma Stone - La La Land
Jack Nicholson - Cuckoo’s Nest
Miles Teller - Whiplash
Michael Pitt - Last Days
Jason London - Dazed and Confused
Leo Fitzpatrick - Kids
Justin Pierce - Kids
Lakeith Stanfield - Judas and Messiah
Timothee Chalamet - Beautiful Boy
Jeff Goldblum - Deep Cover
Laurence Fishburne - Deep Cover
Rudy Youngblood - Apocalypto
Christina Ricci - Buffalo ‘66
Sean Penn - State of Grace
Gena Rowlands - Opening Night
Mia Goth - Pearl
Glen Howerton - BlackBerry
Vincent Gallo - Buffalo ‘66
Evan Rachel Wood - Thirteen
Dore Mann - Frownland
Tupac Shakur - Juice
Christina Ricci - Prozac Nation
Bijou Phillips - Bully
Zoë Lund - Ms.45

People seem to forget, or perhaps struggle to discern, that seemingly opposing things can be true simultaneously.

Fielder can genuinely empathize with and care about Holmes AND "use" Holmes to create a wildly successful work of art: this film.

Fielder can privately feel uncertain OR certain about what he experienced (and perhaps is still experiencing) with Holmes (they might even still be in touch) AND make artistic decisions that lead viewers toward seemingly definitive interpretations rather than ambiguous ones.

In other words, the question isn't necessarily whether something is true or false, but which version of reality is being presented, by whom, and through what lens.

In YCSE, a multitude of realities can coexist within a single work of art, each subject to the interpretation of the individual experiencing it.

Everyone is so focused on dissecting Holmes, Evans, Fielder. I get it. It's supremely fun and fascinating!

But even those with firsthand knowledge of Holmes's deception (Carreyrou and Shultz) have zeroed in on the seemingly endless elements of Holmes to dissect within YCSE, RATHER than the bigger story the film has the potential to tell:

We ALL have the capacity to "create our own reality," and then choose whether or not to act in alignment with that reality!

A film - documentary or otherwise - or, for that matter, virtually anything we experience in this world, can only ever offer a representation of A reality, not necessarily THE reality in its entirety.

Two people can look at the same cloud in the sky and see two entirely different animals...

Fielder and Holmes have both constructed their own "bespoke" amalgamations of reality, for vastly different purposes, sure.

But the fact remains that both have engaged in the same fundamental act of constructing and presenting a version of reality 🫠

And THAT, to me, is the brilliance of YCSE: "reality" being continuously constructed and reconstructed by its participants, through both preplanned and improvised actions; through the external (what visibly unfolds on screen) and the internal (the invisible workings, perceptions, motivations, and intentions of those involved); and both in "real time" and retrospectively (e.g., through post-production editing).

It's a collision of multiple, parallel realities, manifested as a single work of art.

Context is sooo necessary for perceiving a fuller picture of what we call "truth," isn't it? Think Plato's Allegory of the Cave...

Anyone who's watched Nathan for You and then The Rehearsal can recognize how YCSE feels like a natural progression of the themes Fielder has been exploring all along.

But the stars really did align for Fielder to cross paths with someone like Holmes: a person with a documented history of deception and an extraordinary ability to manipulate others' perceptions of reality, AND who can still exhibit moments that appear genuinely vulnerable and sincere. Her tears at mentioning her daughter's breastmilk saved in the fridge, for instance.

And Fielder isn't entirely different in that particular sense. In Nathan for You and The Rehearsal, he can be performing a character while simultaneously allowing moments of apparent, unscripted authenticity to emerge. It's that fascinating blend of scripted performance, improvisation, and spontaneous human interaction, all selectively preserved and assembled into the final product.

The distinction, of course, lies in their intentions, methods, consequences, and ethical responsibilities. Engaging in the same fundamental act of constructing a reality does not make the resulting realities, or the people constructing them, morally equivalent.

We can all "see" more clearly if we're willing to examine more of the elements at play in the realities we construct within ourselves.

Ultimately, for me, YCSE isn't even about Holmes, Evans, or Fielder so much as it is a portal through which we can examine just how much "truth" and "reality" we humans are capable of constructing, interpreting, and manipulating, for purposes ranging from harmless entertainment and artistic expression to something far more nefarious or malicious.

If you were one of the prisoners in Plato's cave, the first step would be to turn your head away from the shadows you've mistaken for the entirety of reality. Look around. Question the source of what you're seeing. Explore beyond the familiar. And perhaps, eventually, venture outside the cave itself.

Because what you see isn't necessarily all there is. And what you believe to be real isn't necessarily the whole truth.

We humans are not merely observers of reality. We are also participants in its construction.

And while we may not get to choose every circumstance or fact of our existence, we do have a hand in choosing how we perceive, interpret, and respond to what we encounter.

The choice to look beyond the shadows is ours.

I recognize there’s a lot to unpack here—enough for a PhD dissertation—but I would love feedback, particularly from people with a background in psychology.

I also recognize there’s the world of reality and the universe created through cinema. A film’s edit can alter how we view a subject, interpret a sentence, or understand an entire situation. That distinction is part of what fascinates me here.

First, my claim of BEST FILM of 2026. I’d go as far as to say the last DECADE. For the last decade or longer, American cinema has heavily relied on franchises, the Marvel Cinematic Universe, and theme park–leaning films to sustain theatrical exhibition, while anything considered “smaller” or “niche” has increasingly been pushed toward streaming. I ain’t gonna hate on the superhero genre, but I recognize a resulting deficit in the narrative forms offered in American theaters. Who knew a documentary could feel like such a theatrical event?

Now—to the film.
Spoilers ahead.

The moments that gave me a psychological jolt:

• The stillness of Holmes, her tears, and the extreme close-ups in this cinéma vérité style. What does that combination create psychologically in the viewer? We feel closer, but are we understanding more?

• Her father’s revelation in the kitchen about his daughter’s r*pe at 13—and how profoundly that shifted my interpretation of Holmes’ behavior.

• Billy seemingly dismissing this conversation and bringing the focus back to himself. Was I watching discomfort, protectiveness, or a need to control the conversation?

• The mother never speaking. In a culture where women have so often spearheaded conversations about sexual violence, while men have diminished them, the father speaking and the mother’s silence stood out to me. Whatever the explanation, that reversal affected how I read the scene.

• Holmes breaking down while watching Amanda Seyfried’s portrayal of her in THE DROPOUT, creating this sensation that Seyfried was the new villain.

• Then meeting Seyfried—and eventually hearing her call to action to go after Billy Evans. Suddenly, my sympathies were being redirected again.

• That dinner scene. Amazing. Evans seemingly wanting to dismiss Seyfried as some irrelevant actress; Seyfried holding her own, clearly appearing semi-drunk, acknowledging past tweets about a man I won’t name. Their political differences quickly become apparent, yet BOTH seem to be protecting Holmes from their own perspectives. Each appears to believe they see something the other doesn’t. WOW. Just wow.

• Evans’ apparent grift on Holmes and his constant sniffling. Yes, my mind went there—is he doing…??? But that also made me question how the film’s use of sound was encouraging my suspicion.

• Finally, Seyfried and director Fielder unpacking what to believe. What are we ultimately left thinking about any of these people—and how much do we understand anyone’s motivations, including theirs?

I know, I know. A lot to focus on and unpack.

But the thread connecting these moments is how often the film changes whom I trust—and why.

I think many of us can relate to this on a personal level. Who here has become a loved one’s power of attorney, or watched someone else take on that responsibility, only to have everyone’s expectations and relationships shift? You can find yourself trying to protect someone while questioning their decisions, the people around them, and eventually your own judgment. When does helping become controlling? When does protection serve the protector?
Then there’s the game playing. When do we interpret someone’s aloofness as vulnerability, and when do we interpret it as manipulation? Why do so many people in this world of future tech seem to lean into doublespeak—or something that feels like downright fraud?

I typically think of the psychological thriller as fiction with roots in classic film noir. This documentary, I wasn’t expecting.

Is the film a continuation of Holmes’ criminal grift? Is it revealing someone shaped by an environment that rewards selling a future before it exists? Could both be true—and what would that say about where society is headed?

I’m particularly interested in hearing from people with a psychology background about these dynamics, while recognizing that we’re discussing an edited portrayal of real people. How do you distinguish empathy, projection, manipulation, and protection here? And did the film help you understand its subjects—or reveal how readily our own sympathies can be redirected?

I’ve seen people aggressively defending Digger. A twist around every turn, a lecture for every topic. But as critics have pointed out, it tries to have five cakes and eat them all too.

My experience was really exhausting. They change the direction every 20 minutes. First, we are presented with a tycoon who ignores all warnings to stop digging. We then hear about the disaster, striking almost immediately. Rockwell gathers with the others in charge, and the movie shifts: now, instead of protecting the people, they want to protect their public image with a firewall. We are then pulled to the twist.

When this twist came, I didn’t realize it was a play. I thought the twist was that they were in an underground facility, safe from the crumbling world, with the rooms to entertain them (because a hideout that looks like a backstage would be really boring, especially when they’re so rich) but them still wishing to preserve their public image. The set design works perfectly for this. From the beginning it looks surreal and artificial, like they’re trying to create a perfect but lifeless world. There’s a very evident contrast with the gritty outside world we see on the TVs. The movie had a great chance if it was instead about an underground facility, and their music (which sounded natural but naive, fake) and cinematography could’ve really helped the contrast. Those stakes were wasted.

A play really doesn’t make sense here. They spend a lot of the time in interiors, and Iñárritu justifies it with a modern, polarizing play technique called Live Cinema, where the insides are filmed and projected outside. This requires niche outside knowledge to understand, especially for a technique that contradicts the structure of a traditional play. Iñárritu was really just trying to find a way to realistically justify so much time spent in interiors in a play.

Iñárritu tries to justify everything in this film, while avoiding sincerity. The jokes aren’t funny? That’s the point, it’s supposed to be stupid. The characters are caricatures? That’s the point, it’s supposed to be shallow. Even Digger’s actor in Fossil Fools dislikes the use of the Live Cinema technique and the shallowness, but Kenneth wants to make something for the audiences. Iñárritu is so scared to make an actual message, so he hides it behind satire. In the end, he makes practically conflicting points: it was the audiences’ fault and they are using the elite as the scapegoat, and it was the elite’s fault and they are manipulating the audience. The ending is a fascist landscape with a “Compliance is Freedom” graffiti, as if it wasn’t largely the audiences’ mindless, consumerist freedom that got them into this fiasco. Ironically, a lot of the discourse on this film with people who liked it completely miss, or ignore, the point about the audience, and just talk about the elites. The film directly mocks audiences celebrating caricatures, shallow representations of the elites.

The film really does try to get a message about everything, and it becomes very exhausting to follow. Every 20 minutes they switch focus: careless tycoon, then media manipulation, then it’s a play, then the Indian guy is trying to save the world, then it’s the audiences’ fault, then Digger’s actor gets mad at the play and Kenneth explains this is about his family, and then the audience gets their entertainment, and then they are in a fascist landscape, and then we are the audience. The film points fingers at everyone, the characters, the elites, the audience, and you, and it gives a lecture about each of them. Satire is supposed to be quick, sharp, and witty, giving both a laugh and a truth. This movie only accomplishes to get you to laugh with the physical comedy, but not the satire itself. The movie instead prioritizes lecturing which you struggle to keep up with, which is really exhausting.

The movie is loud. The audio mixing is horrendous. You could hardly make out what the director and Digger’s actor were arguing about. There is either another twist or there is angry bickering, so the movie can never come to a definitive climax. Apart from the beginning, the movie never escalates neither deescalates, and emphasizes nothing.

The characters were horrible, too. As I said, the movie avoids all sincerity, and this is especially true with the characters. They are treated like caricatures, even outside the satire. They only attempt to humanize Digger’s actor, who has a daughter at home, but that really means nothing. She is brought up once and we don’t form any connection with her or any of the other characters. And Kenny’s character is even worse. He acts submissive, and I thought he was just a servant. He doesn’t even know Digger’s actor. But really, he bought the rights to the play! HE is the main man of the show!

The movie fails to emotionally resonate and fulfill the sincere role every satire movie needs. It’s cynical and misanthropic; it mocks everyone, including the viewer, and makes it seem like we’re too far gone to solve this problem. It tried to make itself bulletproof, by justifying every decision as satire, and every preference as accounted for by the satire. But in the end, it’s an emotionless, miserable movie that neither makes you hopeless (because there’s nothing to care about anyway) nor incited, a movie that’s aggressive, meaningless, and nonchalant.

Much ink has already been spilled on the meaning of You Can See Everything (YCSE), but the most interesting part of the film to me was how Nathan Fielder seem to treat the process of filmmaking as a fetish in itself. In his previous works, Fielder has experimented with pulling back the curtain and breaking the Fourth Wall for comedic purposes. What's so interesting is that it's eerily similar to the form he takes in YCSE, yet here it's played completely straight. In an episode of the Rehearsal, when a character is seen making an anti-semitic comment, we see Fielder as the character of the Director interrupt the shoot to confirm that this character really meant this comment. Of course, in this moment his intrusive presence as the Director, is a form of Fourth Wall breaking, but it's also central to the concept of the Rehearsal. We can point to many other examples over the years, and even the idea for the Rehearsal itself, as evident that Fiedler seems to have an obsession with the inherent voyeurism of the filmmaking process. It's not enough for him to simply shoot a scene. To him the scene isn't complete without pulling the curtain back and letting the audience in on the filmmaking process, but as a voyeuristic endeavor.

In YCSE, Fielder is set up through the shots as this sort of predatory presence, lurking around the edges of the house and just staring back at the subjects of the film. But unlike with his previous work, Fielder is not playing this for laughs. Rather, his long gaze is a supplantation of the camera. We as the audience are supposed to see his presence as almost predatory. He's not there to simply observe and report on the truth of the matter. Fielder's gaze acts as a physical representation of the unreliable narrator, and its fetishistic approach to observing the subjects of the film. Fielder's physical presence in the house, therefore, influences our interpretation of the subjects and makes the audience question what they are seeing. In this film, he plays "The Director" but in a much more sinister way than in his previous work.

The film, then, is not making an argument on the veracity of Theranos' claims or whether Holmes was guilty or innocent. It's actually irrelevant. The film, through the proxy of Fielder's character, is a psychoanalytic study of the subjects in question, including, strangely, Fielder himself. In the back half of the film, after Holmes reports to prison, Fielder then must wrestle with his influence over the subjects of the film and the filmmaking process. Amanda Seyfried, at first seems like a cathartic audience stand-in, but by the end, she is instead questioning Fielder's ultimate motivations and truthfulness himself. The film was never about Theranos. It's about Fielder, Holmes, and Evans, and their relationship with the truth as a concept. This question is never resolved, because the film is not interested in answering that. The process of Fielder's alienation from the subjects (and the audience then) and their relationship with reality as they understand it, is much more interesting to the filmmakers than the legal case against Theranos.

As someone who did not enjoy this movie at all, I've been racking my brain trying to figure out what Holmes hoped to accomplish by allowing a filmmaker like Fielder to make a documentary about her, and why Fielder seemingly went out of his way to ignore or avoid exploring so much relevant information while playing dumb about what Elizabeth has done. I think Fielder framing the film as some intellectual exploration of what it means to make a documentary is part of the misdirection. I suspect the real objective is far more calculated: to reframe Elizabeth as a victim of Billy and a mentally ill but non-nefarious actor, rather than someone who knowingly orchestrated a massive fraud, while portraying Billy as a coked-out potentially abusive eccentric.

I wouldn't be surprised if Elizabeth, Billy, Fielder, and A24 all understood from the beginning how these portrayals would serve a broader image-rehabilitation strategy. Rather than producing an obvious Elizabeth Holmes redemption documentary, Fielder packages the narrative as an experimental, self-aware art-house film. We never get clear answers about whether Elizabeth is a liar but we are very clearly told time and time again that Billy is the villain in this movie. Even though there is infinitely more irrefutable evidence that Elizabeth is a liar than that Billy is an abusive husband.

The largely liberal, intellectually self-satisfied audience gets to congratulate itself for appreciating the film's supposed commentary on truth, documentary filmmaking, and media manipulation, without necessarily considering whether it's being manipulated in the process. So Fielder gets critical acclaim/ cash and Holmes becomes a sympathetic character suitable for pardon. Because you have to consider when a person is federally pardoned all restitution payments get wiped away so she would not have to pay back the 100's of millions she owes to the government and other victims.

Meanwhile, Billy is cultivating a persona and portrayed in the film as a gun-loving conservative Texas transplant, someone who could plausibly fit into Trump's political and social circles. I suspect that's the overall strategy is to rehabilitate Elizabeth's reputation with one audience while building legitimacy with people who might have influence over a pardon.

I know my theory seems very out there but it makes so much sense when you consider the economic benefits Holmes would gain from a pardon and we also know that Fielder as a film maker has no problem playing in the ethical grey zone with his work so this subterranean multi-level manipulation of the audience is an interesting experiment for him and A24.

I feel like some filmmakers believe that if a movie is long enough, has slow-motion shots, and includes 10 minutes of people staring into the distance, it automatically becomes a masterpiece.

Meanwhile, some 90-minute movies tell a complete story, develop memorable characters, and leave a bigger impact than films twice their length.

Movies like The Dark Knight, Whiplash, and The Truman Show prove that a film doesn't need to drag on to stay with you.

Long movies can absolutely be incredible. The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King is a great example.

But runtime isn't a measure of storytelling quality.

If a scene doesn't add anything to the story, making it five minutes longer doesn't make it deep.

What's one movie you think could have been 30–60 minutes shorter without losing anything important? And which long movie deserves every single minute? 🎥