Lilo & Stitch was released on June 21st, 2002. Its development goes back to the fall of 1997. A meeting was called wherein CEO Michael Eisner led a discussion evaluating the studio’s future. According to then-President Thomas Schumacher, Eisner poignantly suggested developing a film that was smaller in scope. By 1997, the Disney Renaissance was beginning to dwindle, but the films released throughout the decade were bombastic stories. Eisner wanted the studio to create a “Dumbo for this generation”: a delicate feature with a more personal and artistic feel to it.
While this sounds noble, this decision was not entirely made due to a devotion to artistic experimentation and expression. It is worth noting that the latter half of the Renaissance was underperforming compared to the earlier years. Both critically and commercially, Disney was not reaching the lofty highs they had expected. Projects were falling behind schedule and going over budget. Eisner was, above all else, a businessman. A smaller film meant it could be easier to perform spectacularly at the box office compared to, for example, Hercules’s disappointing returns just that summer.
Schumacher came to Chris Sanders with the proposition that he pitch a film idea. Sanders worked in storyboarding within Disney Animation. Through working on Mulan he met Dean DeBlois, and they developed a strong partnership in the story department. Sanders and DeBlois teamed up to pitch an idea that they would write and direct, centered on a little alien creature named Stitch, who Sanders had created more than a decade before. The initial ideas surrounding Stitch’s film focused on his isolation on Earth after crash-landing in the woods. Animals feared him as an outsider, and he struggled on his own. This Stitch was non-verbal.
True to Eisner’s vision, Sanders and DeBlois workshopped their ideas almost entirely on their own, bringing in a sparse team to work through the storyboarding process. Sanders grew so accustomed to using a funny voice when working out Stitch’s dialogue, he even voiced him in the finished film. Eventually, they tapped into the more compelling narrative of Stitch engaging with humans. Sanders proposed setting the story in Hawai’i, specifically the island of Kaua’i. When visiting the islands for research in 1999, the team experienced many facets of Hawaiian culture firsthand, most notably the widespread sense of connectivity and community experienced by the people who lived on the islands. This concept of “ohana” proved integral to developing the characters of Lilo and Stitch and identifying the parallels between them.
Usually in this series, I discuss various aspects of these films that make them stellar pieces of work within the history of Disney animation. I discuss the artistry, the structure of the story, the extraordinary characters. I want to explore this film a little differently. I want to talk about what Lilo & Stitch means to me.
Lilo & Stitch was a film my family owned, one of the few DVDs in our collection. I watched and rewatched it so obsessively that even now, decades later, I can recite whole swaths of the film by memory. It was not just one of my favorite Disney films or one of my favorite animated films. For years, I declared it my favorite film of all time. It was difficult to explain why. I only very recently found the words to explain the visceral emotion I felt upon every rewatch.
Put simply: Lilo and I are almost the exact same person.
When I was a child, I didn’t have friends. I could barely make them, and once I did, it seemed impossible to keep them. I couldn’t play dolls because mine were ugly things I had modified to fit into my stories. I always wanted to talk about topics other kids didn’t really have an interest in, like the California Gold Rush or the history of the Tudor family. If I was teased, I could get violent, biting and scratching until I was pulled off. Like Lilo, I had stacks of books on random topics scattered all around my room. Her oddly mature fixation on Elvis paralleled my own with Bob Marley when I was only five or six. More than anything, I could never seem to laugh whenever I watched her throw her “tantrums,” when it was easier to slam doors or scream into pillows than explain how she felt or why she misbehaved. I fought against the urge to slam doors almost every day.
Not long ago, I discovered that there was a reason I felt this way. I operate on the autistic spectrum. This explained the difficulty I had communicating with other kids all my life, my hyperfixations, and how much I hated the texture of shoes on my feet. I made another discovery in tandem: Lilo is very much coded as autistic. Once I realized it for myself, it recolored my entire relationship with the film. When Lilo scared off Myrtle and her group of friends, it reminded me of how my classmates would shove me out of lunch tables and giggle at my hurt and confusion. The worst part was how I spent years achingly aware of the fact that, just as Lilo says: “People treat me different.”
Lilo and I were never completely alone, though. As Lilo has Nani, I have my sister. Nani and my sister are roughly ten years older than Lilo and me. They are mature, focused, dedicated, and above all else, kind. Nani had to take over as a mother figure when their parents died unexpectedly. She is still incredibly young herself and now has to look after Lilo as well. While our parents are still alive, my sister and I experienced a similar kind of absence. Our youngest sister was born extremely premature and spent many months in the NICU, and many years of medical intervention came afterward. It was only natural that much of our parents’ time and attention was focused on our youngest. Even though I was very young when my little sister was born, I understood that there was no point in jealousy. It was my job to be easy to handle amidst the chaos.
It was difficult. I didn’t have anyone to talk to about how fast my life was changing and how much of it I couldn’t understand. I wasn’t jealous. I was lonely. It was my older sister who came to my rescue.
She slotted herself into the shifting role of an older sister and best friend and, sometimes, mother. She let me talk her ear off about whatever my special interests were. She took me to the movies when our parents were busy. She took me to school and helped manage my curls until I learned for myself. When we were tasked with grocery runs, we would add a secret can of Monster Energy to the list and share even sips in her car. She let me crawl into her bed so I could feel less scared without a word exchanged between us.
Every time I watched Lilo and Stitch, the similarities between me and my sister and Lilo and Nani became more and more apparent, down to the smallest detail: Nani’s gleaming surfer trophies looked just like my sister’s collection of piano trophies. It felt comforting to see a relationship so grounded, so similar to something I lived in every day. While I hoped and prayed that one day a dear friend like Stitch could come into my life, the film also helped me realize just how valid and important the relationship I had with my sister was. Like Lilo and Nani, we could bicker and argue, but sometimes it does feel like we’d die without each other.
There’s a scene towards the end of the film. Nani has been made aware that, despite her best efforts, the government is going to be removing her sister from her custody. Nani can’t seem to find the words to explain this to Lilo. Her only recourse is to take Lilo into her arms and sing a goodbye song in their native Hawaiian. The scene is framed from Stitch’s alien perspective, as he looks on and observes a tenderness he has never experienced before. It is some of the most emotional work ever showcased on screen. Nani and Lilo’s love is palpable, so much so that it is understood in just how they hold each other and how much they mean to one another. It mirrors the countless times I sat myself in between my sister’s legs so she could hold me just the same. Even now, the scene makes me cry when I think about the mere idea of living in a world where we’re separated.
Nani and my sister were safe harbors for Lilo and me. They helped us feel protected, heard and seen. I look to my sister nearly every day for advice and guidance, or even just a simple “I’m proud of you.” Likewise, I help balance her. I talk her down when she’s stressed or concocts some impossible danger scenario in her head. Sometimes, we each just need a phone call to cry. It was my sister I first told about discovering that I was on the spectrum. She’s the one who helps build me up, reminding me on my worst days that I am a good person.
It’s hard to put into words how important it is to me that I had Lilo and Nani as I grew up. Lilo was loving and tried her best to be helpful despite not always comprehending how her world was changing around her. I understood her and felt understood in return. She helped me see that I didn’t deserve to be bullied or mistreated, but more importantly, how that doesn’t have to define me or make me any less of myself. It comforts me to know that the way I behaved didn’t make me an impossible problem child and that I always had my older sister right beside me to help make things better. Lilo taught me most of all that I deserve love just as I am. I shouldn’t have to shrink or change how I act or think or feel to be loved. And while in some ways I’m still waiting for a Stitch to come take me away on an adventure, I will always have my Nani.
Lilo & Stitch was every bit the success Disney had hoped for. Its stunning watercolor aesthetic and the odd marrying of sci-fi adventure with a touching and human story made for a unique film that granted the studio its biggest success since 1999’s Tarzan. This led to a long-running franchise, featuring direct-to-video sequels, cartoon shows on the Disney Channel both domestically and abroad, and even theme park attractions.
I greatly enjoy that this film is very visible within the Disney brand. I am grateful that it is not washed away as a forgotten gem. What discomforts me, however, is how Disney chooses to frame this film. A large focus is placed on Stitch and his mischievous adventures. While Stitch is a wonderful and emotionally compelling character in his own right, much of how Lilo & Stitch is remembered washes away the emotional complexity of the film. Whenever the brand showcases examples of emotional moments across its canon, very rarely do we get glimpses of Stitch reciting the meaning of ohana or Nani singing to Lilo. The girls hardly receive their due as multi-faceted female characters who are also some of the few women of color that feature as Disney protagonists. Anna and Elsa were not the first sisters to show that their love could move mountains, Nani and Lilo were!
My hope going forward is that, as people revisit this film, they can take a second to look deeper, beyond Stitch’s place as the film’s cute and cuddly mascot. I hope people can find themselves moved by the three main characters, how they exemplify a profound and fluid sense of love. Once again, this is a film that decentralizes the importance of simple romantic love. It explores the complexity of rebuilding a family. It emphasizes that those bonds are not strictly defined by blood, but by love, patience, and compassion. As the credits roll, we see all the memories Lilo and Stitch have with their found family made up of humans and aliens alike. They share big moments like holidays and vacations, but also simple things like family movie night. In that, new and old viewers can take away the important message at Lilo & Stitch’s core: there is no one right way to have a family; what matters most is deeply treasuring the family you have, no matter the size.
