The monster may have abandoned humanity, but it hasn’t abandoned trousers.

There comes a point in every monster’s entrance when my eyes wander south. The head is mesmerizing. The fangs are angry and ready to draw blood, and the claws mean business. Then I notice the pants. Not a second skin, not some mysterious extension of alien anatomy—pants. Suddenly I’m less concerned about the fate of humanity than whether this creature has somewhere to hang them at night. It’s hard to maintain a proper state of terror when the thing coming to destroy you looks dressed to help you move a sofa or fix the plumbing. And you’re hoping it doesn’t bend over and reveal yet another portal to the unknown, like most plumbers. We all know about the threat of that terror. It’s the ‘crack’ of doom.

So, for a little Halloween treat here at The Last Drive In, I’m giving these fellows their own trailer parade: Pants Monsters: Terror, One Leg at a Time!

We’ve got monsters in sensible slacks, monsters in what look like scaly Dockers, Martians offering proof that another civilization might have invented the fly, and mutants, freaks of nature and scientific misdeeds, all defying nature while remaining oddly faithful to menswear.

Now, the Wolf Man gets a pass. Poor Lawrence Talbot was already dressed when the full moon intervened; you can hardly expect him to stop mid-transformation and reconsider his outfit. A ripped shirt is one thing; shopping for trousers, hoping to find some with a little give for the full moon, is another. And the Gill Man from the Creature from the Black Lagoon isn’t part of this investigation at all. He’s an amphibious god with the credentials to prove it, not a fellow whose magnificently absolutely ridiculous monster head has exhausted the budget before anyone got to his knees. I’m talking about the creatures whose upper halves promise the end of civilization while their lower halves suggest they’ve just come back from Sears.

I love every awkward inch of them. This isn’t an inspection of the seams; it’s a celebration of that wonderful moment when an otherworldly menace turns around, and you think, “I believe my uncle owns those.” Pull up a chair. A trailer a day does keep the boogeyman away, and if it doesn’t, at least we’ll recognize his pants.

The Alligator People (1959):

Richard Crane plays the unfortunate Paul Webster. An experimental alligator serum turns him into a scaly, upright reptilian monster who ends up roaming the Louisiana swamps with scaly skin, clawed hands, and a long-snouted alligator head perched on an upright human body—still wearing pants. Science has gone too far, but apparently not past the waistband. Evolution has taken a sharp turn, but the trousers are holding their ground. From the waist up, a medical nightmare. From the waist down, a fellow who’s come to quote you for drainage work. Beverly Garland plays his poor wife, who presumably expected “for better or worse” to stop somewhere short of this.

Monster on the Campus (1958):

In Monster on the Campus (1958), Arthur Franz plays Professor Donald Blake, whose encounter with an irradiated coelacanth turns him into a hairy, heavy-browed prehistoric brute—still wearing a checked shirt and slacks. Joanna Moore plays his poor fiancée, Madeline Howard, who probably thought she was marrying into higher education, not early man. He’s gone back a million years, but he still looks dressed to put up a fence.

It! The Terror from Beyond Space (1958):

With Edward L. Cahn’s It! The Terror from Beyond Space 1958 A bloodthirsty, scaly, big-nostrilled monster stowaway whose trousers suggest that interplanetary terror comes with an elastic waistband. Ray “Crash” Corrigan wears Paul Blaisdell’s monster suit, whose loose, trouser-like legs earn it an honorary place in the “Pants Monsters” lineup. They’re not actual human trousers, but the effect is wonderfully domestic: from the waist up, the terror from beyond space; an interplanetary nightmare, capable of wiping out the crew, but reluctant to wear anything with a restrictive waistband. He’s crossed the void to destroy humanity, an unspeakable cosmic horror; but while he’s draining you of blood, those trousers suggest he’ll settle into an armchair afterward and drink a cold beer. The definitive blueprint for Alien—because in space, no one can hear you scream. In Cahn’s film, however, they can see your pants.

Invaders from Mars 1953:

The Martian mutants in Invaders from Mars shuffle along in their green trousers with the awkward determination of creatures whose plans for world domination are being compromised by trousers better suited to a quiet evening of bingo. They’re bent on conquering Earth while their pants cut off circulation to their extraterrestrial gonads. Could be why they’re shuffling that way. William Cameron Menzies paints a gorgeous, dreamlike stuff of nightmares. The invasion is terrifying. The trousers suggest it wraps up by nine. Nothing says ‘your planet is doomed’ quite like trousers chosen for a long sit-down. Menzies’ painted landscapes still have the enduring power to disturb. The Martians’ trousers still suggest they’ll conquer Earth, then complain about the neighborhood kids on the lawn.

This Island Earth (1955):

Directed by Joseph M. Newman, with uncredited work by Jack Arnold, the film sends Earth scientists to the war-ravaged planet Metaluna, where they encounter a mutant played by Regis Parton and Eddie Parker. With its enormous exposed brain, bulging eyes, and enormous insect-like claws, it’s a spectacular vision of alien biology—until you reach the trousers. Apparently, the universe holds mysteries beyond human comprehension, but getting dressed still means one leg at a time. The Metaluna Mutant is practically the patron saint of Pants Monsters! Its planned insect-like legs didn’t work, so the filmmakers used trousers painted to match the upper costume; an elaborate alien nightmare above the waist, sensible slacks below.

Night of the Blood Beast (1958):

Directed by Bernard L. Kowalski, this Corman-produced nightmare brings an astronaut back from space with alien embryos incubating inside him, leaving a stranded research team, including beloved B-movie regular Ed Nelson as communications expert Dave Randall, to contend with his unwelcome traveling companion. Beneath that beaky alien head, the lower half looks conspicuously like textured coveralls and work boots. The costume, worn by Ross Sturlin, had already appeared in Teenage Caveman (1958), so even its wardrobe had previous experience. The Blood Beast arrives with sinister plans for humanity and a pair of trousers that suggest it’s also available to clean your gutters.

I Was a Teenage Werewolf 1957 / I Was a Teenage Frankenstein (1957):

Adolescence gets two spectacularly unhelpful interventions. In Gene Fowler Jr.’s Werewolf, Michael Landon plays Tony Rivers, a troubled teenager whose psychiatrist treats his temper by turning his angst into something with fangs. Puberty is difficult enough without having to brush your face. In Herbert L. Strock’s Frankenstein, Gary Conway plays a teenager assembled from an accident victim’s remains, giving him an alarming face assembled under protest. Landon’s Pa Ingalls’ face has gone feral; Above the belt, two reasons to flee screaming. Below it, their trousers are quietly making the case for a second date.

The Mole People 1956:

Directed by Virgil W. Vogel, this subterranean adventure sends John Agar and Hugh Beaumont beneath the earth to discover a lost Sumerian civilization whose pale inhabitants keep scaly, bug-eyed mole creatures enslaved to harvest mushrooms. It’s an underground kingdom with an appalling personnel policy. The Mole People emerge from the bowels of the earth as ‘Beasts of the Darkness,’ with claws built for excavation and trousers. Apparently, even the bowels of the earth require a decent pair of slacks.

The Hideous Sun Demon (1958):

Robert Clarke co-directs with Tom Boutross and stars as Dr. Gilbert McKenna, a hard-drinking scientist whose radiation exposure leaves him turning into a scaly reptilian brute whenever sunlight hits him. His tendency to seek consolation in a bottle and stay out until dawn makes the film easy to read as an addiction nightmare: he knows what another night of drinking could cost him, but goes anyway. Then there are the pleated trousers, making a heroic effort to suggest this is still a man with his life in order. His face says irreversible catastrophe; his pants say he’s just stepping out for a cold one then heading home for some sunscreen.

The Horror of Party Beach (1964):

-It’s radioactive sea monsters, with bulging eyes and mouths apparently stuffed with hot dogs, that bring a ridiculous B-movie energy. The film also received the Mystery Science Theater 3000 treatment. It’s truly one of my favorite guilty pleasures.

The monsters in The Horror of Party Beach lumber ashore in what look like scaly Dockers, proof that radioactive mutation is no excuse to abandon ready-to-wear. Though they’re in full creature suits, in their water-resistant slacks, they look like lounge lizards who’ve taken the description far too literally. The voice is all pond; the trousers say two shows nightly. Croaking out standards like a bourbon-soaked bullfrog singing the blues.

Radioactive Marty the Mutant is Paul Blaisdell’s nickname for the three-eyed creature he designed from Roger Corman’s Day the World Ended (1955). Blaisdell built the creature over his own long johns, with a bulky upper body and comparatively snug legs; the costume’s lower half was literally constructed like a pair of pants. It falls under the Spectacular monster upstairs, unmistakable fellow downstairs category, rather than a monster wearing ordinary trousers; they’ve still got room for pockets!

Happy Halloween—may your monsters be terrifying and their slacks sensible!