Before I watched it just now, Splitz lingered in my memory as one of those movies every video store in the ’80s seemed to have, but no one ever seemed to rent. It had one of those strange video covers you always noticed on the shelf, but never felt obligated to pick up. I had always assumed it was about a bunch of sexy girls who triumph over the domination of another group of sexy girls via the power of aerobic cheerleading — kind of a combination of H.O.T.S. and Heavenly Bodies.
Turns out my imagination was wrong, and it’s really about how a trio of sexy female musicians join forces with their manager to help a bunch of homely girls triumph over the domination of two groups of other homely girls via the power of intramural college athletics.
What really surprised me about Splitz was how much I was charmed by it. That’s not to say it’s a good movie — it’s far too hamstrung by the competing sensibilities of its four credited screenwriters to work as a successful whole — but I found it full of enough charming characters and worthwhile moments to allow me to patiently get through the scenes that were obviously written by whichever of the four writers was a hack-tastic moron.
I will admit that I’m probably biased by my affection for movies that feature sexy all-girl bands. As a fake band, The Splitz are a surprisingly catchy trio — nowhere near as good as The Carrie Nations, but in the same league as Josie and the Pussycats. Robin Johnson (Times Square) especially stands out as Gina, the group’s lead guitarist who looks like a New Wave goddess, but sounds just like Jo from The Facts of Life (which is really much hotter than it sounds). —Allan Mott
Next, a bullied youth takes revenge on his tormenters via that old black magic, followed by a campfire tale that name-drops a slew of scary movies as it pays homage to the more “spirited” ones. The campers experience real terror, but hey, at least they’re not made to “
Johnny boards Kelly and Tom inside because of the oncoming storm and heads to the bar … but not before letting his new purchase slip inside, too. ZOMG KITTEH!!! Thus begins a half-literal game of cat-and-mouse that shouldn’t be able to sustain itself for more than an hour, yet does. 
Just watch her wonderful under-reaction to the news that her and Sam Jones’ blossoming intimate relationship might be an incestuous one and tell me why she didn’t at least get her own badly written, cheesy ’80s sitcom! Truthfully, I can take or leave the rest of the picture — including the bizarre appearance by a fetal Penn & Teller — but that hasn’t stopped me from watching it a dozen times since it first came out.