LILO & STITCH

When “Lilo & Stitch” was released in 2002, I was no longer the target audience for animated films—at least, that’s what I told myself at the time. I had grown up with “Toy Story,” which in 1995 I watched with awe and affection. But by the time its sequel arrived in 1999, I skipped it entirely. Animation, it seemed, had become something I believed I’d outgrown. So when “Lilo & Stitch” landed in theaters, I wasn’t paying attention. And yet, watching it now, decades later, I can’t help but think: if I’d seen this film at the right age, I would have loved it.

The first surprise was just how visually fresh the film still feels. The version I streamed on Disney+ boasts watercolor backgrounds and hand-drawn character work that feel, somehow, both nostalgic and contemporary—richer in texture than many slicker digital productions we see today. But animation alone does not a great film make. What elevates “Lilo & Stitch” is how distinct it feels from the familiar Disney template.

Gone are the royalty and fantasy kingdoms. In their place, we get Lilo, a lonely, eccentric Hawaiian girl who feeds peanut butter sandwiches to a fish she believes controls the weather. She’s a misfit, a weirdo, and maybe most crucially, a child grieving the loss of her parents. She now lives with her older sister, Nani, whose fierce love for Lilo is matched only by her panic over trying to be both caretaker and breadwinner in a world that isn’t making it easy. Enter Cobra Bubbles—a social worker with a name fit for a James Bond villain and the stone-faced seriousness of someone who’s seen too much.

And then there’s Stitch.

A genetic experiment gone awry, Stitch is engineered to destroy and incapable of doing otherwise—at least at first. He crash-lands on Earth in the midst of fleeing intergalactic authorities and soon finds himself adopted—disguised as a dog—by Lilo, who sees something in him that no one else does. Their relationship is messy, chaotic, and completely sincere. Both outcasts in their own way, they find in each other something deeper than friendship: a shared longing to belong.

There are moments of real hilarity here—Stitch wreaking havoc with casual glee, or Lilo’s deadpan response to her classmates’ disdain (“My friends need to be punished”). But the comedy is never at the expense of the characters. It rises naturally from who they are. And there are moments of genuine emotional heft: Lilo begging Nani to save Stitch; Nani pleading for one more chance to keep her sister. The tears the film earns are quiet, honest, and well-earned.

What sets “Lilo & Stitch” apart is not just its emotional intelligence or its sly sense of humor, but its setting—Hawai‘i, depicted with warmth, authenticity, and an Elvis-infused soundtrack that is as offbeat and wonderful as the film’s central duo. This isn’t just an aesthetic flourish. The concept of ‘ohana—family—isn’t treated as a cute theme, but as the spiritual and emotional bedrock of the film. “‘Ohana means family,” Lilo tells Stitch. “Family means nobody gets left behind—or forgotten.” It’s a simple line, repeated more than once. But in the film’s hands, it becomes a quiet, revolutionary mission statement.

I arrived late to this movie. Years late. But as with any story that understands love, loss, and the ragged edges of what it means to build a family from broken parts, “Lilo & Stitch” waited for me. And I’m so glad it did.

VIEWED ON
Monday, May 26, 2025
Disney+