By Rachel Harb, RFC Communications Manager

Note: Minor spoilers ahead for the 2026 documentary, You Can See Everything.

There’s a popular documentary currently making the rounds in theaters across that country that has everyone talking—including RFC staff. It prompted an interesting conversation about the nature of communication, and so we decided to capture a piece of that conversation and share it now with our community.

On its opening weekend, I saw Nathan Fielder and Lance Oppenheim’s critically-acclaimed documentary, You Can See Everything, which centers primarily on Elizabeth Holmes, the disgraced founder of the health care and medical tech start-up, Theranos, and her romantic partner Billy Evans. It was a surreal experience, in which anyone familiar with Fielder’s work will feel right at home.

Fielder, the creator of comedic, boundary-pushing shows such as Nathan for You, The Rehearsal, and The Curse, serves as documentarian for the film and also features heavily as a subject alongside Holmes and Evans. As a refresher on the backstory, Holmes was convicted on fraud and conspiracy charges and sentenced to 11 years in prison as a result of the company’s “revolutionary” device, which she claimed could run many medical tests from “a single drop of blood,” although those claims turned out to be false.

The film is a great many things, but the definitive arbiter of Holmes’ guilt or innocence? Not even close.

Instead, the film leans heavily into the dynamic of the family—Holmes, Evans, and their two young children—as they prepare for Holmes’ transition to federal prison in 34 days’ time from the beginning of filming. Rather than trying to litigate the specifics of the case, Fielder’s interest is clearly with Holmes herself and his own wavering opinion about her sincerity. Is she a woman being taken advantage of and endangered by her domineering partner? Or is she a fully-conscious co-conspirator, complicit and a benefactress of her partner’s bad behavior while she “keeps her hands clean?” Fielder is frequently confounded by Holmes’ responses to his questions, as she, whether by a quirk of her communication style or by purposeful obfuscation of the truth, never seems to give a direct answer. His consternation throughout the film is palpable.

The documentary takes the question of communication to an existential plane. While the film omits most of the factual evidence from the case, it presents an intriguing look into the nature of communication: What’s in a word? How responsible are we for others’ interpretations of our words? What responsibility do we have for the negative consequences others face when we tell their stories?

This dialogue is of great interest to me, as someone whose expertise and daily work lies in communication. I am a hobbyist creative writer, and I am also the communications manager for the RFC.

The job of communication is to relay information clearly, effectively, and often, convincingly. This may require drawing from a large body of complex, esoteric information, with some pieces relevant, some not, parsing what’s most important for any given audience, and doing the labor of translating that information for them in language they can understand.

I often get frustrated when I observe someone highly skilled in their field—a scientist, a technician—refusing (or perhaps unable?) to rework their language to make it accessible for the general public and expecting them to do the leg work for them. That’s not typically how audiences absorb information or feel inspired to investigate further. In a world full of obligations, busy schedules, and distractions, many could be forgiven for not making it a priority in their day to meet you more than halfway when you’re trying to get their attention.

This is something I try to keep in mind when I relay stories about activists in the RFC granting community, whose styles of activism, degrees of targeting, and political subject matter differ highly from family to family, often with sensitive information that we keep private for their safety. And, founded as we were by the younger son of Ethel and Julius Rosenberg, there is a trove of historical information to relay about the Rosenberg Case, their sons’ adoption into a loving family, and that family’s role in civil rights history—their adoptive father, Abel Meeropol, was the author of the iconic 1930s anti-lynching song, “Strange Fruit,” among other notable songs and poems (like Frank Sinatra’s “The House I Live In”).

It’s a good problem to have, that there’s far more information to draw from than I could ever hope to fully communicate. But I do try to keep in mind that as new supporters arrive to our network, I’m speaking to a very mixed audience in terms of their awareness about what the RFC does and our lengthy and extraordinary history. It’s a balance that I hope our community will forgive me for not landing perfectly every time. (Although now six years into my employment with the RFC, I do feel I’m getting better at it day by day!)

So, what’s in a word? A great many things—and it’s something the RFC engages with thoughtfully and with great consideration. As for You Can See Everything, the nature of communication is a philosophical discourse worthy of its 174 minutes’ run-time, and it leaves you wanting more. If I may be permitted to communicate one more thing, go ahead and see the film for yourself in the theater; love it or hate it, your experience will be memorable.