If you were alive in the mid-80s and tuned even vaguely into sci-fi or horror, there’s no way you escaped Critters. Released in 1986 and arriving on the coattails of Gremlins, the film was clearly made in a cinematic era where studios thought, “Hey, kids like small monsters—let’s roll with that!” And you know what? They weren’t wrong. Critters is a mix of horror, sci-fi, and comedy that doesn’t aim to be profound or earth-shaking but instead just wants you to sit down, press play, and enjoy the carnage. It’s as old as I am, and watching it now is like cracking open a time capsule stuffed with VHS fuzz, neon nostalgia, and puppetry teeth.
The setup is pure B-movie gold. A group of alien creatures called Krites escape from a galactic prison transport ship and make their way to Earth. These pint-sized horrors crash land in small-town America (because where else would aliens logically end up?) and immediately start doing what they do best: eating everything in sight. Crops, animals, people—nothing is safe once the rolling little monsters set their sights on it. Standing against them are the Brown family and a couple of intergalactic bounty hunters whose methods are about as subtle as a fireworks display inside a petrol station. The result is a home-invasion movie reimagined through the lens of sci-fi absurdity, where every shadow could be hiding a tennis-ball-sized predator with more teeth than common sense.
One of the great joys of Critters is Charlie, played by Don Keith Opper. He’s the town drunk with a heart of gold, convinced aliens are out there long before anyone else believes it. Armed with a slingshot that proves shockingly effective, Charlie becomes a sort of accidental hero, bumbling his way through the chaos while stealing every scene he’s in. There’s something universally endearing about a character who shouldn’t be useful but somehow manages to be the linchpin in saving the day. Without Charlie, Critters would be missing its quirky soul.
The special effects are campy as all hell, but that’s part of the charm. These were practical puppets—squirming balls of fur with eyes that glowed and mouths that snapped open with grotesque delight. If you squint, you might see the wires or foam rubber seams, but it doesn’t matter. That slightly rough quality is exactly what makes the film work. Critters isn’t trying to be slick; it’s about that feeling of watching something ridiculous but fun at a midnight screening with your mates. The explosions are too big, the gore is too gooey, and the monsters are both hilarious and terrifying, depending on how seriously you want to take them. If Gremlins was a polished studio creature feature, Critters is its punk-rock cousin with a leather jacket and bad manners.
What really stands out in hindsight is how much mileage the film got out of its concept. Critters went on to spawn three sequels throughout the late ’80s and early ’90s, each one adding to the mythology in strange and sometimes baffling ways. From Critters 2 bringing back Charlie in full force, to Critters 3 being infamous for starring a young Leonardo DiCaprio, to Critters 4 shooting the little monsters into space like some sort of rabid, furry Star Trek spinoff—it became a cult franchise that leaned harder into its own absurdity with every outing. Most people would agree the first one is the best, but watching the sequels is like unwrapping increasingly weird presents at Christmas. You’re not sure what you’re getting, but you’re definitely curious enough to look.
The pacing of the original film is lean and fast. There’s no wasted time on philosophical debates or long stretches of exposition. You get aliens, you get family drama, you get monsters eating things, and you get Charlie firing off slingshot shots like some backwoods Hawkeye. The script doesn’t pretend to be clever, but it knows how to keep an audience entertained. In a way, that’s the secret sauce of Critters—it’s cinema junk food, guilty pleasure in a microwavable bucket, and it doesn’t apologise for a second.
Looking back, it’s easy to see why Critters found its niche. The mid-80s were swimming in films that combined horror and comedy, but few leaned as gleefully into their premise as this one. It didn’t overthink itself, it just delivered what was on the tin: small alien monsters causing mayhem in a small town. That formula, when played with the right mix of tongue-in-cheek humour and practical effects wizardry, is hard to resist.
Critters may not be a masterpiece, but it’s a cult classic worth revisiting. It’s the kind of film you throw on when you don’t want to think too hard but still want to be entertained by something gleefully destructive. It’s got teeth, it’s got laughs, and it’s got Charlie with his trusty slingshot. For a film that spawned a whole franchise and still finds itself talked about decades later, that’s not a bad legacy. Six out of ten feels right—it’s not high art, but it’s damn fun.
