The Return of Count Yorga was was made in 1971, three years after George Romero rose to fame with Night of the Living Dead, two years before William Friedkin turned heads with The Exorcist, and three years before Tobe Hooper ripped up the horror rule books with The Texas Chain Saw Massacre. And yet Yorga is remarkably tame, like something from another decade, delivering cheesy clichéd vampire nonsense that fails to thrill. Even Hammer moved with the times and upped the gore and nudity in their films, but there's no blood and boobs in Yorga, making it feel more like a TV movie than a big screen release.
Writer/director Bob Kelljan clearly isn't convinced that his Yorga sequel is scary enough, infusing matters with some weak tongue-in-cheek humour, but all that does is make the film a failure on two levels, neither frightening nor funny. The vampires themselves are probably the most amusing things about the film, but not intentionally so: the 'brides' of the count wear terrible make-up and plastic fangs that don't fit in the mouth very well, while Yorga himself looks positively hilarious whenever he vamps out, running towards the camera, arms outstretched and mouth agape. Perhaps part of the problem with the film is that California simply doesn't scream 'vampire film' to me: there's no substitute for a small European village in the mountains to create genuine gothic horror chills.
3.5/10, rounded down to 3 for not explaining how the windows broken during a vampire attack are magically replaced before the police arrive on the scene. Does Count Yorga know a supernatural glazier who operates a 24-hour glass replacement service?
Writer/director Bob Kelljan clearly isn't convinced that his Yorga sequel is scary enough, infusing matters with some weak tongue-in-cheek humour, but all that does is make the film a failure on two levels, neither frightening nor funny. The vampires themselves are probably the most amusing things about the film, but not intentionally so: the 'brides' of the count wear terrible make-up and plastic fangs that don't fit in the mouth very well, while Yorga himself looks positively hilarious whenever he vamps out, running towards the camera, arms outstretched and mouth agape. Perhaps part of the problem with the film is that California simply doesn't scream 'vampire film' to me: there's no substitute for a small European village in the mountains to create genuine gothic horror chills.
3.5/10, rounded down to 3 for not explaining how the windows broken during a vampire attack are magically replaced before the police arrive on the scene. Does Count Yorga know a supernatural glazier who operates a 24-hour glass replacement service?