Considered by many to be one of the worst films of all time, this hilarious anti-classic riffs on its one-note premise of two gigantic piles of crudely-stitched carpet swatches and rubber tubing running rampant through a hick town. Oh, and there's some pseudo-scientific blather about the two monsters being alien sample collectors of some sort, studying human weaknesses by gulping down every brain-dead redneck and 30-year-old teenager they can find. (The would-be victims are remarkably accommodating; most of them gape like stunned carp as the monster approaches, then suddenly swan-dive into the hungry fellow's maw.) Leaping bravely to Earth's defense are a severely inbred deputy and a smug, nattily-dressed pretend-scientist. It's hard to say whether the relentless, sleep-inducing narration obscuring most of the dialogue (apparently several reels of the film's original dialogue track were destroyed) is a blessing in disguise, sparing the viewer from the almost certain agony of watching the "leads" (i.e. the director's cousins and in-laws) attempt to act. At any rate, audiences are left with some of the goofiest setpieces ever committed to celluloid: the first alien's attack on a portly gentleman (who clearly outweighs his attacker by at least 300 pounds); the deputy's barely-concealed discomfort at watching his boss tongue-wrestle with his wife; the uncouth interruption of a hideous sock-hop by a slam-dancing monster; and the oft-noted tendency of the aliens to sport running shoes. ~ Cavett Binion, Rovi