Let’s get one thing out of the way: I did not walk into the 2025 live-action Lilo & Stitch expecting to cry into my popcorn like it was the funeral scene in The Lion King. But there I was, a full-grown man, dabbing at his eyes in the middle of a theater packed with kids half my daughter’s age — kids who were probably just there to see “the blue alien dog that screams a lot.”
What they got — and what I got — was a mixed bag of heart, spectacle and some deeply strange choices that somehow still manage to echo the chaotic charm of the original.
Let’s rewind.
The original Lilo & Stitch (2002) is sacred territory. A scrappy underdog of the Disney Renaissance’s after-party, it broke away from princesses and fairy tale kingdoms to give us a raw, tender story about broken families, alien fugitives and the healing power of Elvis Presley. It was weird. It was bold. And for a lot of people growing up in the early 2000s (or those of us who were grown but still enjoying youth), it became an anthem for the misunderstood.
So, when Disney announced yet another live-action remake — this time for a film already beloved for its hand-drawn beauty and emotional intimacy — I sighed the sigh of a man who’s watched Pinocchio (2022) and hasn’t quite recovered.
But credit where credit’s due: Lilo & Stitch doesn’t aim to carbon-copy its animated predecessor. Directed by Dean Fleischer-Camp (yes, the Marcel the Shell guy), the film threads together nostalgia and novelty with varying success. It swaps out the pastel watercolor look of the original for a more grounded, gritty Hawaiian island, filled with warm sunlight, surfboards and a surprisingly lived-in sense of place.
And while the CGI Stitch isn’t quite as expressive as his 2D cousin, he’s still every bit the hyperactive goblin we remember — an adorable chaos gremlin voiced, once again, by Chris Sanders, because some roles are just eternal.
Now, let’s talk casting, because this is where the film almost soars. Young newcomer Maia Kealoha steps into the flip-flops of Lilo with a gravity and earnestness that feels ripped right from a home movie. She doesn’t try to imitate the original voice actress; instead, she brings her own quiet defiance to the role, capturing that specific brand of loner energy only a 6-year-old with a camera and a record player blasting “Suspicious Minds” can wield.
Then there’s Nani (played by Sydney Agudong), who carries the heavy burden of being both a guardian and a sister with grace. Her performance is more subdued than Tia Carrere’s vocal turn, but you can feel the exhaustion and love etched into every scene. Her chemistry with newcomer Kaipo Dudoit as David gives the film some much-needed warmth and levity — even if David still feels like a side character in his own romantic subplot that never really gets fleshed out.
But for all the heart these performances carry, the script occasionally forgets that it’s not just juggling aliens and social workers, but real human emotion. Some scenes hit like a hammer to the chest, such as when Nani tries to have an open discussion with Lilo about their impending separation. Others feel like first drafts of better ideas, with dialogue that leans too heavily on exposition or jokes that feel forced, like a sitcom writer was brought in at the last minute to punch things up.
And that brings us to the alien subplot. Ah, yes. The stuff kids are supposedly here for. Jumba and Pleakley return, now rendered in a blend of CGI and motion capture that — while technically impressive — lack some of the cartoonish elasticity that made them so endearing. Zach Galifianakis voices Jumba with gleeful menace, while Billy Magnussen’s Pleakley is… well, Billy Magnussen in a wig and a dress. Some fans will find it hilarious; others may feel like they wandered into a rejected SNL skit.
Still, the action scenes — what few there are — pop with energy and slapstick delight. The spaceship crash is bigger, the chase scenes more kinetic, and the final escape sequence, while not quite as thrilling as the original’s red hovercraft joyride, gets the job done. There’s a moment where Stitch uses a portal gun to make Jumba fall repeatedly through the floor and ceiling, all while cackling with pure gremlin joy, and for those 12 seconds, I was a kid again.
I give Lilo & Stitch a solid four out of five stars. So, where does that leave us? Somewhere in the middle of a rainbow, I suppose. The film is messy. It’s uneven. Sometimes it leans too hard on the memory of a better film. But it also has heart — and that’s not something you can fake. Like Stitch, himself, this movie is a bit of a Frankenstein creation: part old, part new and definitely destructive if left unattended.
But also, like Stitch, you can’t help but love it, even if it bites a few household objects and eats your favorite photograph along the way. It’s not a perfect movie, nor is it trying to be. What it is, though, is a reminder that Ohana means nobody gets left behind — or remade without at least some good intentions.