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(RNS) — Like millions of others, I have been obsessed with the unexpected hit documentary “You Can See Everything” since seeing it on opening weekend. As someone who rarely sits through an hour-long Netflix show, I have seen this nearly three-hour movie in theaters twice.
Directors Nathan Fielder and Lance Oppenheim show the life of disgraced tech mogul Elizabeth Holmes in the days before she heads to federal prison with close-up emotional shots, including Holmes nursing her baby and her young family frolicking on the beach. Unlike most documentarians, Fielder doesn’t stay behind the camera. He steps into the story, openly wrestling with what he’s seeing and how to tell it. In the end, the movie leaves you walking away questioning everything you’ve seen. (Minor spoilers are ahead.)
I hadn’t followed the scandal closely when Holmes was touting her groundbreaking technology or when the house of cards came tumbling down. After walking out of the theater, I dove headfirst into everything I could learn about the story: Holmes became the world’s youngest so-called self-made female billionaire, partly by building the image of a visionary disruptor. She was known for wearing a black turtleneck like Apple founder Steve Jobs, speaking in a lowered voice and presenting with unshakable confidence. She convinced investors, military leaders, board members and the press to believe in a blood-testing technology that never worked as promised, as reported initially in the Wall Street Journal.
I learned about the vast network of gullible Silicon Valley investors, the whistleblowing employees and the determined journalist who pulled back the curtain on the elaborate scheme. I also watched more of Fielder’s absurd, provocative body of work, laughing one moment and deep in thought the next. Fielder has built his career on blurring the line between reality and performance, so you’re never quite sure whether you are watching a con, a social experiment or a profound look at the depth of human experience.
But after absorbing the whole story, there’s one scene I can’t still shake — and not the one that gave the film an R rating. It’s the scene where Holmes prepares to leave her two babies to spend a decade in prison. She enters in her usual earthy tan sweater and baggy jeans, but this time, a gold necklace with a subtle cross rests around her neck.
In her countless media interviews, on the billboards lighting up Times Square, in post-scandal moments captured as she walked her dog in athleisure wear and a ballcap in the Bay Area, and even in the 30 days Fielder and Oppenheim captured in the first hour-and-a-half of the movie, I never saw Holmes wearing a cross necklace. But according to media reports and photos from the prison yard where she serves her time, the necklace remains her only accessory paired with her gray prison shorts and T-shirt.
This is an unexpected turn because, in her decades of public life, Holmes has rarely spoken about God, faith or Christianity. When she did, her talk about God was vague, airy and tied to an inevitable destiny of success. In a handwritten note from the early 2000s, entered as evidence in her trial, she writes “rise and thank God” and “pray” as among her apparent tasks for the morning. And in a 2015 commencement speech, she said, “We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us,” misattributing the Marianne Williamson quote to Nelson Mandela.
However, since August 2025, Holmes’ X account, managed by her fiancé Billy Evans while she is in prison (which comes up in the movie), has included a significant increase in God talk. Platitudes about motherhood and faith are bolstered by quotes from the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., Charlie Kirk and JD Vance. According to Fielder, she says she equates God with the love between her and her husband; she has come to understand that what we call love is God.
I’m left wondering: Is Holmes finding religion? Is she taking up the golden cross necklace of Christian belief, trust, values and identity?
After all, people often find Jesus in times of suffering and struggle. Everyone grows and changes. Perceptions of God and religion shift with life experience. Countless stories of transformation and conversion exist, from Malcolm X to Johnny Cash, Shia LaBeouf, Russell Brand and Jelly Roll. Chuck Colson, the former special counsel to former President Richard Nixon known as the “hatchet man” in the Watergate scandal, is said to have received a copy of C.S. Lewis’ “Mere Christianity” after his arrest, leading to a profound conversion to Christianity.
While the public often scoffs at these confessions, some have gone on to show remarkable transformation. Colson, for example, went on to found Prison Fellowship, one of the largest outreach ministries for prisoners and their families.
Or is Holmes’ apparent public expression of faith yet another façade — enacted or even created by Billy — to manipulate perceptions and tap into the presumed moral and ethical superiority of Christianity in the U.S.? Is the cross necklace another costume like the black turtleneck or the down-to-earth mom attire, worn to project an image and manipulate a credulous public?
Christianity has been used for centuries to shape optics and create scaffolding that makes unacceptable behavior seem acceptable. The Moral Majority and the religious right have intentionally bound Christian confession to perceived ethical high ground, and used it to signal political fealty. This is seen clearly in President Donald Trump’s attempts to prove his religiosity by citing scripture (remember “Two Corinthians”?), in sharing AI images of himself resembling Jesus or by invoking divine blessing after surviving assassination attempts.
We live in a world where deeply held religious beliefs can, on one hand, bring meaning, belonging, moral formation and health, and on the other hand, can be used as a political tool justifying violence, exclusion and harm.
When it comes to confessions of faith or donning religious garb and imagery, how do we know whether a belief is sincere, or whether we wear it around our necks as a symbol of our own delusional desire for power and control?
This is where I return to that feeling I had when I walked out of the theater, wondering if Holmes actually believed she did nothing wrong. Is she a visionary leader who spoke with too much certainty and raised too much money before her vision was realized? Did Fielder offer an objective look at this young family’s daily life, or did he shape the story to cast her in a favorable light? Is Evans the evil man behind the curtain or a doting partner and dad? Who is manipulating whom?
The blurry lines between performance and reality — the hallmark of Fielder’s work and the collision that cost Elizabeth Holmes her freedom — can be seen each day in professions of faith. Examples are seen on campaign stages, in courtrooms and perhaps on a gold chain around a prisoner’s neck. A cross can be a confession or a costume, and from the outside they look exactly the same.
Maybe a more appropriate title to the film would be “Are We Ever Capable of Seeing Everything”?
(The Rev. Dr. Amanda Henderson is the director of the Institute for Religion, Politics, and Culture at Iliff School of Theology in Denver. She also hosts “Complexified,” a weekly interview podcast from the Iliff Institute and Religion News Service. The views expressed in this commentary do not necessarily reflect those of Religion News Service.)