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Forsaking much of the typical studio fare, Lilo & Stitch is a welcome bit of smaller scale film-making. If it ever reminds you of Dumbo, it’s supposed to. After several notable bloated productions – Pocahontas, The Hunchback of Notre Dame, and Kingdom of the Sun (prior to transitioning to The Emperor’s New Groove) – ran over-budget, under-performed, or failed to materialize, the deciding powers wanted a quickie that put more emphasis on heart and character.
The roots of Lilo & Stitch go back to the mid-80s, as co-director Chris Sanders had done a preliminary sketch of what would eventually become Stitch. By the mid-90s, Michael Eisner, that era’s Disney studio-head, took inspiration from Dumbo’s quick production schedule and small budget, and demanded the creation of a like-minded film. Sanders brought along Stitch, a creation for a failed children’s book pitch, and the idea of isolating him in a remote location. At the time it was Kansas, but at some point it switched to Kaua’i.
Why is all of this important? Because when the studio stops trying to make glossy prestige films and gets looser limbed, operates within a limited budget, and forces itself to focus more, something magical happens. Lilo & Stitch is nothing but empathetic heart, a look at a lonely, traumatized, and depressed little girl who is struggling to heal, and finds a kindred spirit in a creature created in a laboratory. There are many moments of quiet heartbreak to be found in Lilo & Stitch, and it is one of the most openhearted and warm films to come out of Disney.
Lilo, especially, is one of the more relatable and understandable protagonists in a Disney film. She lost both of her parents in a car crash, is capable of great imagination (the film is littered with quirky episodes detailing the eccentric ways she deals with grief), is lonely and misunderstood, but capable of great humor, innocence, and empathy. She’s been traumatized and is looking for a friend, for a connection to help her deal with it all, and sooth some of her pain. A scene where her older sister, Nani, overhears her praying is tremendously moving. Even better is a scene between the sisters where they cradled each other.
Nani and Lilo’s dynamics make up a large amount of the film’s running time, and you hope and pray that they figure out a way to make it all work. Nani is a figure of deep sympathy for me. She’s clearly in over-her-head, and not always the best guardian for Lilo, but she’s trying hard and doing the best that she can with what she’s been dealt. How can you not root for these two to survive, thrive, and succeed? Their happy ending is hard won and battle scarred, and deserved.
My only problem with Lilo & Stitch is the jarring juxtaposition of the alien stuff which bookends the film, or frequently interrupts the human drama at the center. It seems inevitable that it would be present, and dropping it after Lilo adopts Stitch under the disguise that he’s some kind of strange looking dog would be dishonest and lazy writing. Yet I can never shake the feeling that these two sections of the film are too at odds tonally to merge smoothly. They’re still a ton of fun to watch, and the designs of the various ships and species are clever and original.
If the Post-Renaissance has a film that comes closest to being a masterpiece, this one is the obvious choice. Lilo & Stitch has lively animation, a series of lovely watercolor backgrounds, memorable characters, a lot of heart, laughs, and thrills. I hope the years are kind to it, and it ascends to a higher level in the Disney filmography. I’d be happy to see Cinderella get swatted down and something like this take its place.
