My 38 Days At The Bottom, Or, A New Guy's Plan For Domination

Judge Bill Gibron

July 1st, 2002

I am the new guy. What exactly does that mean, you may be asking? Well, I am the most recent reviewer given the chance to wax poetic and frenetic about DVD here at the Verdict. I am also the suspicious one, the one people know very little about, the one whose reviews are questioned and approached with a suspicious, jaundiced eye. I am the untested one, the one whose thoughts on film are dubious and whose writing talent is suspect, if only because of lack of familiarity. I am the one that, when layoffs come, is the first to be handed a version of the home game. I am the one who is razzed, teased, and easily put in his place. I am the police chief in the action packed blockbuster, the head camp counselor in the slasher flick, or the honest man the highly paid Hollywood superstar throws off for the flawed, but fun actor of equal or at least not below the marquee billing. I am the first one voted off the island, eaten by cannibals, or labeled the weakest link. No one relies on me for a lifeline, or calls out my name when trouble looms. I am the brand new product consumers shun in favor of old name-brand stalwarts at the supermarket. I am crystal cola, reformulated shampoo, or "new and improved" baby wipes.

Trust me, it's very awkward being the new guy. It's junior high school all over again, except without the zits and funky hallway smells. Or maybe just without the zits. Here at Verdict Preparatory, the social stratum is set and an incoming freshman walks the halls in fear of initiation (a.k.a having to films in non-anamorphic full screen presentation). There are the cliques and pecking orders. There are nerds and freaks and dweebs and stoners. Fellow judges whisper about you behind your back, and it's not uncommon to find a "flame me" sign pinned to the back of your monitor. There is the sense of having walked into a repertory company's version of Sixteen Candles, you are Farmer Ted and no one has given you a script. I feel like I don't matter. I feel people don't understand me. I feel that the really skinny girl with the sexy overbite who sits two rows behind doesn't even know I'm alive (and I'm sure my wife is pleased about that). Being the new guy is not an uncommon experience for me, but in recent years I have risen to the highest position in each one of the organizations my work entails, and so I feel a little depressed about being the so-called newbie. I feel that readers ignore my reviews and my fellow judges scoff at my smart assed way with a word. In short, I feel twisted, bitter, and revengeful, like Frank Gorshin or Kathie Lee Gifford.

But I'll show them. I'll show them all. Like the mad scientists, arch nemeses, and other enemies of the hero and his people, I will make them pay, wish that they had never been born, and any other rancid cliché I can come up with. On this celebration of the 2,000th review, I will outline my plan for DVD Verdict domination. It's just a matter of time before my brilliant plan works. The groundwork and field reconnaissance is already done. My spies have infiltrated the ultra exclusive and gooey fudgey clubhouse. And I will even outline it here, in full detail so that everyone can see it. And prepare for it. And fear it. Because it WILL happen! No one can stop me! Any defense raised or counter measures attempted will fail. Those whom I have conquered will fall down before me and tremble at the very mention of my name. I will no longer be the new guy. Like the cream or the odor of a pair of sweat socks at the bottom of a laundry hamper I will rise to the top. No longer will I be labeled new meat. I will be...a respected member of the DVD Verdict staff! My plan of action will consist of the following six facets, each more devilishly clever than the next. In no particular order:

BILL'S EVIL PLAN FOR DVD VERDICT DOMINATION
(Or for just to not getting asked to leave...)

(1) Maintain a constant state of professionalism.
(2) Give equal respect to films of the past and present.
(3) Never lose my sense of humor.
(4) Accept all criticism fairly.
(5) Approach each film to review fairly and objectively.
(6) Never get sloppy, literarily speaking.

Sure, there are other things I could mention: I could attend more movies in the theater, so I can compare and contrast the transition from big screen to digital disc. I could promise to read more about film, but that would require at least two new pairs of eyes and a 32-hour day. I could bathe regularly. And I am sure that, like all super villains, there is a flaw in my master plan that will be my undoing, something that the hero will discover right before I achieve my ultimate goal and throw back in my face, like an aversion to water, a sensitivity to light, or a blinding desire for more Clamato. You see, I love movies, have my whole sordid life. And I want to make a difference, to be heard, to lift my voice above the din of rancorous clamor than passes for intelligent criticism and show the world I have something valid to say. That is my ambition. That is my dream. But like the Chicago Cubs, or the musical career of Jennifer Love Hewitt, I may be destined to fail. It seems like fate, Goth kids with multiple piercings, and the military industrial complex are all conspiring to keep me down. So maybe I'll just shut up, religiously follow my six mandates, and write my reviews the best that I can. And then maybe, someday, the cool guys on the site will invite me over to the Free Mason Hall for their next keg party. One can always hope. Dang, it's hard when you're the new guy.