There are unknown elements surrounding our beings that would stagger a child's vast dreamworld.
TCM Underground isn't quite finished for the year, but I've seen my last double feature of 2012. First up was 1973's Lemora: A Child's Tale of the Supernatural, which was rescued from semi-obscurity when it was released on home video in the '90s. Directed by Richard Blackburn, who went on to co-write Paul Bartel's delectable black comedy Eating Raoul, Lemora was written by Blackburn and producer Robert Fern and stars Cheryl Smith as a pure and innocent girl who loses both her innocence and her purity when she's drawn into a world of darkness beyond her imagining. The ward of an upright reverend (Blackburn), whose church has been her sanctuary in the years since the death of her floozy mother and the incarceration of her gangster father, Smith is lured away one night by the mysterious Lemora (Lesley Gilb), who sends news of her father, who has escaped custody and is apparently near death (or undeath, as the case may be).
The word "vampire" is never spoken in Lemora, but when you consider that she doesn't cast a reflection, is not a fan of crosses, is never seen during the daylight hours and is drawn to blood, it's fairly easy to connect the dots. (The fangs on Lemora and her minions are also a dead giveaway.) Less easy to classify are the savage beast-men that Smith encounters on her journey, but they're consistent with the film's nightmarish quality. Even the cutaways to Blackburn as the white-suited knight out to save his flock's "singin' angel" do nothing to relieve the film's pervasive atmosphere. In fact, the only thing that dispels it at all is the incoherent climax, but as that was the result of unforeseen production troubles, I'm willing to cut it -- and Blackburn -- some slack. It's just too bad he's never been given the chance to direct another feature.
On the bottom half of the bill last night was 1970's Count Yorga, Vampire, which transports an ancient Bulgarian bloodsucker to modern-day Los Angeles. (Incidentally, TCM's print bore the alternate title The Loves of Count Iorga, Vampire, which is a bit more unwieldy.) Written and directed by Bob Kelljan, it stars Robert Quarry as the count, who is first seen leading a seance which he uses to gain influence over grief-stricken affianced woman Donna Anders and her similarly unhitched friend Judith Lang. Also present for the ceremony are Lang's boyfriend (Michael Murphy), who doesn't take it seriously, and Anders's fiancé (Michael Macready, who also produced and got his father, George Macready, to read the portentous narration). Once they figure out something is up with their women, they turn to blood specialist Roger Perry, who's so slow on the uptake that he asks Lang "Are you sure you didn't fall against anything?" when he notices the puncture marks in her neck. He also tells her to eat a lot of rare steaks, but he probably wasn't expecting her to chow down on a kitten.
Things shift into high gear after Quarry swoops in and carries Lang off, prompting Murphy to give chase (and give up the ghost). Perry, Macready and Anders follow and try their best to keep Quarry up past dawn, but they didn't count on his mystical ability to ask people what time it is. That means a return visit is in order for the following night, with the men determined to arm themselves with more than just idle conversation. Regardless of the outcome, though, Kelljan brought Quarry back for another go-round the following year in The Return of Count Yorga. I tell you, you can stake them all you want, but some vampires just won't stay down.