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.
