Tuesday, September 08, 2026
|
|
|
|
Here's a delirious sentence that would've been unfathomable before the holiday weekend: Nathan Fielder spent several years secretly working on a documentary about the disgraced Theranos CEO Elizabeth Holmes. The comedian's new film, titled You Can See Everything, debuted at the Telluride Film Festival on Sunday night, and those who've seen it say it might have—wait for it—Best Picture potential. See why below. —Brady Langmann, senior entertainment editor
|
|
|
|
The comedian’s feature debut is already breaking all the rules.
|
On Labor Day, I was at a rooftop barbecue when a buddy had his phone out and called me over and merely said, “Watch this.” After the A24 logo and the voice of a woman saying she’s “not that person,” I was startled to see the soul-piercing eyes of Elizabeth Holmes, staring wide. “I don’t have anything to deceive you on. Of course I’m not deceiving you,” she says. I notice she’s shaking, buzzing with alarming energy. Cut to Nathan Fielder staring back, and that’s when I jumped.
A documentary in which the deadpan comedy genius behind Nathan for You and The Rehearsal fixes his cameras on one of the biggest fraudsters of the century—are we looking at the movie of the year? Maybe even Best Picture? Believe it or not, we just might.
|
|
|
|
There's something indescribably cozy about the 1970s. Maybe it was the shag carpets, overstuffed furniture, and generously knit sweaters. Maybe there were just fewer things to do outside the house. Whatever the reason, photos from this era evoke a certain vibe. A mood. And it's perfect for right now, when the boredom of being home all the time is running into the reality that because of the changing weather we'll all have to spend more time at home. Don't despair. Put a record on the hi-fi stereo, pour yourself a cup of something hot, or strong, or both, and enjoy these photos of celebrities at home in the '70s.
|
|
|
|
"I think you've lost weight,” Jake Mueser says, wrapping the tape around my chest.
I haven't. And he knows that. But this is how you sell a suit.
It's a balmy Wednesday afternoon in May, on the second floor of his atelier on Christopher Street, which is as close as downtown gets to Savile Row: antique triptych mirror, a patchwork of Persian rugs, floor-to-ceiling shelves of books. He pulls out options: pale gray, cream linen, a heavier taupe he thinks might work into September. Then he holds up the olive linen and says nothing. That is more or less the end of the debate. Today, he is measuring me for a summer commission. Double-breasted. A day suit that can stay for dinner.
|
|
|
|
|
No comments:
Post a Comment