I can’t honestly say that I ever dreamed of living in the shadows of Detroit. Looming approximately twelve miles from my house is a beacon of urban failure, a boom town that imploded, a centre of political corruption. The street lights don’t come on at night, the pot-holes claim newer, fancier cars than mine, the snow falls month after month after month, and the prospect of Detroit’s infrastructure recovery gets ever bleaker.
No, as a little girl growing up in rural Warwickshire (yes the actual Shire of Tolkein), industrial wastelands, mass unemployment, high murder rates and a People Mover that doesn’t move people very far were not top of my wish list compared to the splendours of the Disneyland Castle or the Barbie playhouse.
But one day, when I had just moved to Florence, Italy, I was bought a Guinness by an American lad, who during the course of our first date, asked me if I’d ever thought of living anywhere else in the world. I answered New Orleans.
‘Funnily enough, I’m going there next weekend’ he replied.
‘Good for you’ replied I and thought nothing of it.
He left Italy. The next day an airline ticket to New Orleans turned up in my inbox. Never let it be said that American men don’t have game. I joined him for Jazz Fest (after debating whether he was a serial killer and in the end, not caring enough not to go) and we had a long distance relationship before marrying.
We lived in Birmingham UK for two years (where I started this blog), before moving to London where he worked for a bank and I interned at magazines, one of which was Total Film. The bank was stressful and made him unhappy. He decided to take a job back in his home state of Michigan, and three weeks ago I moved across the Atlantic in the dead of winter to join him in Royal Oak.
Waiting for my Green Card is a lonely time. I can’t drive over here yet, I can’t work. This isn’t a walkable area and I miss my friends and family. I also can’t sleep. So I creep downstairs and watch any film that happens to be on. And I’m going to review them all, and write about movies in general as they happen to be my passion. And I’ll write about Detroit and the Metro area too. Because maybe I’ll get to like ‘em.
I named this blog Midnight Movies not after any output from Skinamax (cheeky!) but because of the American summer tradition of theatres showing cult classics at midnight. I hope to do this every week when the season starts. Until then HBO had better be worth the money…