Video Wars is so obscure that, 27 years after its release — in a rented room at the Holiday Inn, I’m guessing — it didn’t even exist, according to its absence from the Internet Movie Database. Trust me: It was for the best.
The globe is being brainwashed by one Prince Radolpho … Rapemonger? Rightmonger? (The audio is horrible, so I can’t tell what the fat villain’s last name is.) Anyway, his aim is to control the destiny of anyone anywhere in the world, and requires a trillion-dollar annual allowance from America. To combat this scourge, the U.S. government has a plan that’s “too secret, too sensitive, too everything … we’ll have to field a special team.”
That’s comprised mostly of one guy (George Diamond) who looks like Joe Mantegna’s second cousin. He’s trained in “subversive activities” and must find Prince Radolpho’s computer terminal. To do this, he’s given some gadgets that look assembled from various cast-off parts in Radio Shack’s bargain bin. This film’s Q rattles them off: “a rotational axis with combined sensor … and last but not least, your acid pen.” Replies our hero, “I hope it doesn’t leak in my pocket!”
This leads to a gaggle of Russian female agents, many of whom are real hatchet-faces; multiple aerobics sequences; a snowman with spy-camera eyes; a chase on snowmobiles; and the can’t-miss pick-up line “You like chicken, baby? Well grab a wing.” Take none of this as a recommendation. This no-budget spy comedy is worse than an eye stab.
The whole video game element is pure gimmick, having very little to do with the actual movie. Early on, there’s a scene in which a room full of businessmen are playing a game, and they’re taking to the joysticks as if they’re masturbating. And toward the end, there’s an arcade contest where, judging by the screens shown, the object is to look at 8-bit patterns of random-size squares. That’s about it. Do not insert coin to continue. —Rod Lott
Whether you call it Thriller: A Cruel Picture, Hooker’s Revenge or 
Frigga quickly learns the consequences of rebellion when her pimp punishes her by plunging a scalpel into her right eye (earning her both the nickname described in one the film’s alternate titles and a reason to sport a series of stylish patches). Instead of breaking her spirit, however, this only inspires her to secretly charge her “clients” extra to do the really dirty shit (which, by today’s Internet porn standards, admittedly doesn’t seem so bad) and use the cash to buy her own drugs, and train with experts in the fine arts of ass-kicking until she’s ready to proclaim her independence and properly exhibit her (extremely justified) dissatisfaction.
An attractive, young coed from a wealthy family is left with partial amnesia after suffering through a traumatic incident everyone around her prefers to pretend never happened. A kindly psychologist attempts to help her recover her lost memories, while she deals with the perils of fitting in with her school’s most popular clique. But when people start dying around her, it becomes obvious that either she’s completely crazy or has a psychotic doppelgänger she doesn’t know about.
Based on my fondness for HB2M (which I would happily list among my top five slashers), you’d think this would cause me to dismiss The Initiation as an unworthy copycat, but it’s actually a pretty decent flick, despite its lack of originality. The principal reason: a script that takes pains to develop real, likable characters who we sympathize with, which makes it something of a revelation in a genre where it’s normal for everyone other than the lone female protagonist to be an asshole who needs to die.
The White House whodunit 
What exactly is the president’s administration covering up? And for whom? You’ll find out toward the end of a slightly bloated running time. Dennis Miller co-stars as Snipes’ co-worker, and while he may have been a great comedian once upon a time, he’s grating as a dramatic actor, so it’s hard not to applaud when he takes a bullet. —Rod Lott