Well, this is the movie everyone is talking about, and I can see why. You Can See Everything is far more than a conventional documentary about a fraudster. In many ways, it is a kind of commentary on the most troubling question of the contemporary world: What does it mean to tell the truth when so much of our reality is filtered through technology?
The very title of the movie invites this question. Apparently sure of her innocence and eager to prove it to the world, Holmes grants Fielder unlimited access to her home in the days leading up to her incarceration. Surely, there could be no greater gesture of transparency. And yet, even as we see her in the most intimate of private moments, Fielder is always on edge, always suspicious, always unsettled by what he is observing.
Eventually, out of exasperation at his inability to get a straight answer out of Holmes, Fielder starts to suspect that she may be neurodivergent—her understanding of language overly literal, her view of the world extremely naive. This, unfortunately, is as far as we get before she is imprisoned, and the focus inevitably shifts to her husband—a more conventional and obvious slimeball. Perhaps (we are invited to wonder) the overly trusting Holmes is simply a victim of the men in her life.
But this interpretation lets her off far too easily. Anyone who really examines the facts of the case against her will, I think, find unambiguous evidence that she lied knowingly, repeatedly, and for her own personal gain. Indeed, the final, haunting shot—of Fielder playing in the water with Holmes—leaves open the door that he (and by extension, we) have been taken in by Holmes. Given how many people come away from this movie damning the boyfriend and exonerating her, arguably this may be one of her most effective cons.
But I think the most disturbing question is not whether Holmes ultimately manipulated Fielder, but what it even means to be transparent in an age of representation. As the sociologist Erving Goffman noted (and as many a playwright had written before), the self we present to the world is largely a performance; and the self we chose to present largely depends on the context. And yet, this idea still leaves intact the sense that, underneath the performances, there is a true self, a core of our personality.
But if we truly can see everything—if even our most intimate lives will be broadcast for the public—where does this true self have left to hide? Perhaps rather than solid matter, we are more like quantum fields without clearly defined centers—only momentarily crystallizing in one place when observed from a particular vantage point. So does Holmes really love her partner, or is it manipulation? Is she a visionary who sees the world differently, or is she a selfish con-artist? Is Fielder simply transmitting what he sees, or is he shaping our perception?
The film attempts to get at reality through representation—layers of performances meant to get to the truth—but as it shows, there comes a point where transparency and trickery are indistinguishable.
