Poitras has little do add to the debate over American surveillance programs. Through the mouths of privacy activist Jacob Appelbam, former NSA whistleblower William Binney and others, she argues that the reach of America's (and our allies’) surveillance is unprecedented, which is true. But she also insists that our surveillance programs are unnecessary, that increases in government capabilities inherently infringe on our liberty, and warns ominously that dictatorships begin their oppression with the collection of data. These claims are debatable. Surveillance is essential to countering threats from both terrorists and state espionage in the world today. Poitras' concern over the potential for government tyranny is nearly as puzzling: I am confident that the government officials could break into my house, and I am equally confident that they won’t. That is because there are laws, and effective oversight that forces officials to comply with those laws. A similar logic applies to the abuse of my data. These are old arguments, and Citizenfour sheds no new light.

But what about Edward Snowden himself? Poitras's camerawork humanizes Snowden effectively. We see Snowden huddled over his computer in a bathrobe, Snowden squirming awkwardly in his chair, and Snowden concerned for his abandoned girlfriend. Poitras’s Snowden is human, geeky, and at times, even endearing. But this movie has more than just cute shots of Snowden in bed; we also hear some of thoughts, and these are crucial to piecing together what exactly drives him. To his supporters, Snowden is a heroic whistleblower. To his critics, he is a “grandiose narcissist,” “a paranoid libertarian,” or perhaps Putin’s useful idiot. Despite Poitras’ best efforts, the movie confirms the views of his critics.

Throughout this film, as he does elsewhere, Snowden couches his policy disagreements in grandiose terms of democratic theory. But Snowden clearly doesn’t actually give a damn for democratic norms. Transparency and the need for public debate are his battle-cry. But early in the film, he explains that his decision to begin leaking was motivated by his opposition to drone strikes. Snowden is welcome to his opinion on drone strikes, but the program has been the subject of extensive and fierce public debate. This is a debate that, thus far, Snowden’s and his allies have lost. The president’s current drone strikes enjoy overwhelming public support. So citing his opposition to a widely debated policy as his motivation for increasing transparency is, well, odd. But it’s also illustrative. Snowden’s leaks aren’t primarily aimed at returning transparency or triggering a public debate; they are about creating his preferred policy outcomes, outcomes that usually involve a weaker state. This becomes even more apparent as Greenwald explains how he intends not only to release information about government programs, but present it in as “brutal” and alarmist a light as possible. The leaks were aimed not just to inform, but to frighten.

A similar logic explains Snowden’s bizarre justifications for seeking asylum in Russia. One of the movie’s central claims is that an idealistic Snowden came to Hong Kong “not knowing what was going to happen” next, but with a noble openness to the likelihood of his own arrest. This is believable and even admirable. But what comes after is a tale of narcissism and cowardice. Egged on by Greenwald and Guardian journalist Ewen MacAskill, who constantly ask him when he will “go public,” and a WikiLeaks community eager to hold him up as a banner of resistance, Snowden develops a world-historical view of himself and a twisted understanding of what constitutes bravery. Suddenly, and without explanation, keeping Snowden out of the reach of the American government becomes an issue of paramount importance. “Fuck the skulking!” declares Snowden, while Greenwald urges him to “feel the power” of their bold stand against oppression. Shortly thereafter, Snowden practices hiding under a green umbrella and sneaks onto a flight for Russia.