I Was The Cameraperson On A24’s Documentary “You Can See Everything,” And After It Wrapped I Burned Off My Fingerprints, Changed My Name, And Disappeared Deep Into The Albanian Countryside To Raise Sheep 

“A24, which produced the 174-minute documentary with directors Nathan Fielder and Lance Oppenheim, shared a trailer on social media. In it, Fielder and Holmes stare nearly unblinkingly into each other’s eyes, while she tells him: ‘I don’t have anything to deceive you on. Of course I’m not deceiving you. … Why would I deceive you? There’s no reason for me to do that.’” –Washington Post, 9/7/26

Hello. My name is [REDACTED], but for the sake of anonymity you can call me [REDACTED]. I am writing this letter from deep within the Albanian countryside, where I now spend my days raising sheep and sometimes the errant mountain cow. And that is all I will say regarding my current whereabouts or occupation. You know what they say, “A24 has 25 eyes, and one of them is watching you right now.”

I am a broken person.

It was a serene, crisp fall morning when I first came across the ad on Craigslist. “Looking for a professional cameraperson who is eager to be part of a cutting-edge and groundbreaking project, pushing the boundaries of the documentary genre. Must be comfortable capturing charged moments, possibly with a lack of personal space.” A little weird, but I was in film school debt up to Ms. Holmes’ red, watering eyelids, so I felt obligated to answer the ad. Plus, they were offering $50/day, which was just too good to pass up.

Little did I know, answering that ad would begin the 34 days that ruined me forever.

I should begin by saying that the only person crazier than Ms. Holmes is Mr. Fielder. When I lie down on my straw mat in my makeshift cabin in the Albanian countryside to rest my head at night, I close my eyes only to be tortured by images of his indigestion-addled face twisted into an overcompensating grimace. He looks at me expectantly, his lips parted slightly in disbelief. His breath smells like cold brew and despair. There is no cold brew or despair amongst my Albanian sheep. Only wool and silence. I haven’t spoken to a human in 247 days.

First of all, the only food that Ms. Holmes offered the crew was bowls of mixed nuts that she refilled every morning. But somehow, the nuts were always stale. We gulped down lukewarm tap water on the rare occasions we were given a break, which was not often as Mr. Fielder wanted the cameras running at all times. I often think of this now, as I cup my hands to drink from the blue stream that runs behind my humble dwelling. There are no bowls of mixed nuts here. I am safe.

There were three of us that made up the camera crew. Me,[REDACTED], and of course, [REDACTED]. We worked through the night in shifts, trying our best to force open our sleep-deprived eyes so as to not miss a pivotal scene of Mr. Fielder and Ms. Holmes standing in the kitchen eating bagels, wet crumbs falling on the counter as Mr. Fielder chewed slowly while staring deep into Ms. Holmes’ eyes.

For weeks afterwards, just the smell of freshly-baked bread caused me to instantly throw up. I subsist now on millet and sheeps’ milk, plus whatever edible grass and flowers I forage from the lush Albanian countryside.

“I’m engaging with you as a human being,” Ms. Holmes’ deep register rattled in my ears for months and months after filming. Now, when it returns, I bury my head into the nearest sheep, inhaling its scent. There isn’t a human being around for miles. No one is deceiving me. Humans cannot possess a sheep, no matter what anyone in Forbes 30 under 30 tries to sell you.

The morning of writing this, I awoke in a cold sweat. A sheep had let out a deeper-than-usual bleat, which sounded uncannily like the sound that Ms. Holmes used to make when she reached climax. I throw up all over my straw mat.

I will not be seeing this documentary in IMAX.