You go to my head

Dimitri de Clercq's story begins with an image and sequence that's a perfect thematic encapsulation of the film to follow. An SVU has crashed in a desert, its two occupants unmoving. The passenger, a young woman, stirs and finds that the driver hasn't survived what may have been an unfortunate accident, or something more nefarious, we don't yet fully know. As she struggles to get out of the car, she climbs sideways, according to our point of view, and we realize that to film the scene, the cinematographer has affixed the camera on an axis in the rear seat facing forward so that the viewer at first assumes the car is in its normal, all 4 wheels-on-the-ground position, when in fact it has rolled over and lay on its side - disorienting, initially, as the young woman makes her way up and out (again, sideways, from our Dutch angle perspective) of the car, then increasingly disquieting as she tries to get her bearings and seek help. We try to get our bearings, too, as we are put immediately into the shoes of our protagonist's plight, as she fruitlessly attempts to make her way through an unfamiliar landscape, Morocco as it turns out. The odds begin to dim that she - and in effect, we - will make it out of this nightmare alive. The plot kicks in when a man discovers our heroine (Delfine Bafort, who, in the course of the film, convincingly has to start from scratch and thus goes from cautious to trusting to assertive) in the nick of time, and brings her to a doctor, whereupon they determine that she has suffered near-total amnesia from the car crash.

Beyond that, any more specifics are a guessing game. Characters' hands are not disclosed. Doubts enter in. Who wants exactly what from whom, are people are gaslighting one another, when will the other shoe drop, these are questions that start to slowly gnaw at what we think we are already sure of. In this respect, YOU GO TO MY HEAD sustains an art house neo-Hitchcockian aspect for the remainder of the film. While most of the movie unfolds under the relentless heat and bright whiteness of the Saharan sun, its noir elements are unmistakable.

The best stories, in particular films, don't explain, they unfold, with minimal exposition The viewer here doesn't get ahead of de Clercq's and co-scriptor Pierre Bourdy's plot. Polanski's and scriptwriter Robert Towne's CHINATOWN is but one of the most well-known examples of this (advisedly) inviolate rule of storytelling. YOU GO TO MY HEAD unfolds in much the same way. We do not know (and it would rob our enjoyment anyway of) what will happen next. De Clercq continually upends expectations. When the young woman, Kitty, as she comes to be called by her saviour Jake (Svetozar Cvetkovic, in a carefully calibrated, admirably restrained performance), inadvertently discovers information that potentially gives up the ghost of what the writers have cooked up, we feel that same sickening sense of dread found at the end of CHINATOWN because we're now so fully invested in the outcome of their relationship. It's a very deft threading of a narrative needle de Clercq has accomplished, keeping the audience's sympathies intact for both lead characters despite the unease we feel about them. That uncomfortable ambiguity felt through the entirety of the film is the very same one experienced through another European master's films whose abstract sense of queasy atmosphere is his hallmark, Michelangelo Antonioni. THE PASSENGER and ZABRISKIE POINT come to mind of course, but its better-suited double-feature companion would be Antonioni's undisputed enigmatic classic, L'AVVENTURA.

As long as we're comparing and contrasting, YOU GO TO MY HEAD can be said to comfortably take its place beside other memorable desert-set post-studio era motion pictures. I suppose the instinct to lump it with the most obvious example, Lean's LAWRENCE OF ARABIA, is inevitable, but the English director's romanticized vision of Colonel Lawrence's Arabian peninsula doesn't quite do the lethal dangers of such an unforgiving landscape justice - the vistas and sequences are far more beautifully composed in Freddie Young's breathtaking 70mm cinematography. But it's a far different type of film. Lean's images were meant to leave his audiences awestruck. Not so de Clercq's. It's abstract in the way a Hockney painting is abstract. With Hockney, you know the painting conveys a vague southern California milieu. With de Clercq's film, there's a sense of discomfiting menace and passive hostility, as if the Moroccan desert is patiently waiting for the right time to strike, and then when it does, it will come as a slow psychological uncoiling, not the adrenaline-inducing dramatics of being engulfed by quicksand in the midst of a ferocious sandstorm. In that vein, de Clercq's film is cousin to Claire Denis's BEAU TRAVAIL, in which a regiment of Legionnaires is garrisoned on the edge of a moonscape in the Horn of Africa, The remoteness and proximity of the topography is so a constant reminder of how literally close they are to mortality that it eventually warps their psyches. Kitty and Jake's isolation on the edge of the desert may bring them closer together, but it gets under our skin, unnervingly so. Major kudos are due to Stijn Grupping's cinematography. And all due respect to Vittorio Storaro, there's no need to delve into any comparisons with Bertolucci's THE SHELTERING SKY.

Symbolism abounds in YOU GO TO MY HEAD. The atonal score alludes to the distress Kitty is undergoing as she has doubts about exactly what has befallen her. Jake's modernist edge-of-the-desert home is as austere and alluring as moonlit dunes, a Corbusian wet dream. It and the outdoor pool serve as a literal oasis for Kitty as she rebounds from the crash. But the pool has cracks in the basin, is in need of repairs. Slowly the water drains away around the time that a dismaying truth is inexorably revealed. For that matter, the inquietude is not consigned to the film's final quarter hour. An unsettling sense of dread permeates the film's entirety, reaching a point of despair as it does towards the end, resulting in a most unexpected dénouement. What it finally has to say about human motivation and the lengths to which one will go to satisfy one's desires may be the film's most disturbing takeaway.

Taking up several Hitchcockian themes (irrationality, lost identity, romantic passion, memory, love obsession) the director builds a solid melodrama in the dunes, visually exquisite and with a surprising twist.

(Please note: this is a review penned in the fall of 2018, following a screening at FilmQuest. The review was originally written for the now defunct website, Horror Freak News and published in the fall of 2018).

They're a rare breed.

A perfectly scored film from yours truly.

And this particular film ranked as my "Best of Fest" for the feature film offerings at this year's FilmQuest (the 5th Annual) in Provo, Utah. This screening was the film's Utah premiere.

You Go to My Head is something of an anomaly. It's an art-house flick, through and through, and yet it's also extremely engaging - through and through.

When Dafne (Delfine Bafort) wakes up from a devastating car accident in the middle of the desert, she has no idea where she is, who she is or where to go. On the verge of deadly dehydration, she is found by a man named Jake (Svetozar Cvetkovic), who nurses her back to health. The thing is, once Dafne regains consciousness (while still rife with amnesia), Jake tells her that he is her husband. He takes her back to his lavish desert home and they begin a life together - under these very false pretenses.

There are so many wonderful things throughout this film, but nothing will impress you more than the film's stunning cinematography (an award winner at FilmQuest). Shot entirely with natural light (no joke), every single frame of this film is a piece of art. Stop the film here - gorgeous and frame-worthy. Stop the film there - breathtaking and inspired. The Saharan desert locale (the film was shot in Morocco - at the architectural home of director Dimitri de Clercq's mother) has rarely been so beautiful captured.

Matching the jaw-dropping power of the film's award-winning cinematography, are the powerful performances from the film's two leads.

Bafort delivers a mesmerizing performance. She's fully nude for a great deal of the film - and if there was any discomfort from such a vulnerable performance, Bafort doesn't let on. Of course, she's got an extensive history in the modeling industry, so perhaps that experience empowered her for this brave role. She's free as Dafne (or Kitty - as Jake renames her). And watching Bafort surrender as "Kitty", and eventually fall into what she believes is her real life - is a fascinating journey to watch. Along with said surrender, there is constant doubt. You'll never question Dafne's actions. I mean, what would you do?

There's nothing around to make you question what your "husband" has told you. There's so much beautiful nuance from Bafort - and you'll delight in following her on her journey of true self-discovery - including all of the very emotional highs and lows she'll inevitably experience along the way.

The sly, yet endearing acting work from Cvetkovic matches the emotional power of Bafort's. Not knowing much about Jake's past, you'll never quite know what Jake's ultimate intentions are. But you're never without sympathy for Jake - right along with the inherent suspicion of him (taking Dafne's side on that level). It's a remarkable balancing act by Cvetkovic - impressive to feel so many battling things for one character.

And on the topic of character histories, we never truly get much background on Jake and Dafne (perhaps a very little bit for Dafne), and in this case (my reaction to "is it enough character history?" is taken on a film-by-film basis), I didn't need to know more than what the screenwriters provided. The past of these characters isn't necessary to understand the deep and almost cosmic connection they share.

There's a moment late in the film, where an early sequence of Dafne moving through the home - is repeated. Once you realize where the filmmaker is taking you in this "repeat sequence"... well, it's simply gasp-worthy. Again, in an "arty" picture, when you see something repetitive (taking advantage of the picturesque beauty of the film's main location), it may seem inconsequential. But the revelation at the scene's completion - was nothing short of brilliant.

The film is the pure definition of a "slow burn". And we all know that getting this right is a fine line. But taking such time (the film runs at almost 2 hours) only brings the audience deeper into the characters and their various complicated situations. A truncated version of this story would not have given us enough time to properly love these characters and to properly build to the film's final moments.

On that note, it's always a shock to realize the depths to which you'll become involved with any particular film. I was surprised to find myself in tears as the film came to a close - the stream of waterworks continuing all the way through the end credits and beyond.

The film's final revelations are touching and surprising. Not necessarily on the level of The Sixth Sense as far as "OMG" secrets, but still quite striking. It's not a direction you'll expect the film to take. And I loved that almost Shakespearean possibility - a terrific misdirection.

Visually, and certainly via the sometimes jarring score (Hacene Larbi) - you'll get a sense that the filmmakers were inspired by the work of Stanley Kubrick. Whether intended or not, there are even several "monolith-esque" structures on Jake's property.

The swimming pool is a central location for Dafne's new life. She's constantly relaxing in the calm waters of this architectural beauty. And when a crack is discovered in the pool's foundation, and the clear waters must be drained to address the issue - the subtle symbolism of this on-going act - had me nodding my head in appreciation.

It's not easy for me to award a film with a perfect score. As my tastes have changed, and as I've honed my ideas as a film critic - it's become apparent that a film can get everything right and still only garner a 4.5-star score (not a bad score, of course). To take that extra step into 5-star territory, a film must be an almost transcendental experience - something which goes beyond brilliant technical achievements.

A film has to move me.

And that is exactly what You Go to My Head did. I loved this film, and will go to the ends of the earth to proclaim such sentiments. When you experience something this moving and gorgeous and unique, you can't help but spread the word.

Of course, I can't expect that all audiences will agree with my take on the film. Again, it truly takes its time. And at its heart, You Go to My Head is a love story... albeit an odd (and if you really linger on it - a perverse) one.

Bottom line: You Go to My Head is an art-house film, taking turns which you'd never expect, which is also surprisingly accessible - a combination which is unusual. It's a unique love story. It's a psychological thriller. And it's a marvelous venue to show off the talents of so many gifted artists.

You Go to My Head is - from my perspective - a perfect film. It's a memorable masterpiece. In other words, it "went to my head".

And despite that tacky twist on the film's title, the film has lovingly lingered in my brain - well over a week after the festival screening.

The film was nominated for multiple awards at the 2018 FilmQuest - including Best Picture, Best Director for a Feature - Dimitri de Clercq, Best Screenplay - Dimitri de Clercq, Rosemary Ricchio and Pierre Bourdy, Best Actor in a Feature - Svetozar Cvetkovic, Best Actress in a Feature - Delfine Bafort, Best Cinematography - Stijn Grupping (WIN), Best Editing in a Feature (secret nominee) and Best Score in a Feature.

You Go to My Head has done well on the international festival circuit.

No wider release information is yet available.

If you love to watch filmmaking at its best, You Go To My Head should be tops on your list. I thoroughly enjoyed every moment watching this film unfold. Each frame was carefully crafted into beautiful art. The story was told with subtle and unexpected twists and executed with a keen eye for masterful cinematography. The acting, editing and directing were superb. This is one film that is so finely and intelligently made that I would absolutely recommend it to film lovers everywhere.

Few fears are as grippingly primordial as the fear of losing our sense of self. You Go To My Head dives deep into this fear, and the result will have you on the edge of your seat. We know almost nothing about the film's restless heroine Kitty, but we feel the desperate echoes of her loss, her maddening disorientation, and most intensely, her utter helplessness at having to rely on the kindness of people who might or might not be strangers.

As terrifying as this is for Kitty, she bravely attempts to play the part of "myself" to the best of her understanding. At the same time, mystery man Jake dips his toes into the role of her would-be/once-was husband, but for what purpose? Amplified by the searing desolation of Morocco, these high wire exploits are enough to make a viewer dizzy, but the story is effectively grounded by a larger framing question: is it possible to love when you don't know who you are?

De Clercq's debut film achieves all this with a remarkable economy of elements, windswept sands, unsettling waters, and stark architecture. It's probably no coincidence that these same elements were used to great effect by such filmmakers as Wertmüller, Polanski, and Antonioni. Their footprints are everywhere here. But de Clercq's film is altogether too personal, and too personally heartfelt, to be decoded so easily. Perhaps for the filmmaker, as it is for his beloved Kitty, the same forces of nature that at first seem to be slowly closing in, are ultimately pointing the way to liberation.