Sydney Agudong remembers the first time she read the new script for Lilo & Stitch. It was late. The rain was steady on the roof of her temporary apartment in O‘ahu. And as she reached the final scene—Nani, standing on the beach as Lilo and Stitch run toward her—she cried.
“Not just because it’s emotional,” she says, voice soft, “but because it was me. This girl who always tried to be everything for everyone. I saw myself in her, fully.”
Now 24, Sydney Agudong is not just portraying a beloved animated character. She’s stepping into the skin of a cultural figure, a familial archetype, and a touchstone for Hawaiian identity—revived in real time for a new generation of fans. The 2025 live-action Lilo & Stitch has arrived, and with it, so has Agudong’s moment.
“You Don’t Just Play Nani. You Carry Her.”
Agudong isn’t new to acting—she’s performed in independent projects, streaming series, and music videos—but this is different. Nani isn’t just a character. She’s responsibility incarnate: older sister, accidental mother, protector, dreamer. The heart of the film.
The original 2002 animation showed us a woman under pressure. This version doesn’t let her crack—it lets her breathe.
“They let her have space,” Agudong explains. “She’s still the fierce protector, still the big sister, but now you see her dreams, her fears, her moments alone. That’s powerful.”
In this reimagining, Nani’s story is expanded. She’s attending UC San Diego, studying marine biology. It’s a bold shift from the animation—one that’s raised eyebrows from fans who saw her self-sacrifice as a core trait. But Agudong sees the evolution as authentic, even necessary.
“Hawaiians have always lived in balance—between land and sea, tradition and innovation. For Nani to leave, to learn, to come back? That’s real. That’s ohana too.”
From Kaua‘i to Hollywood, and Back Again
Born and raised in Kaua‘i, Agudong’s relationship with the islands isn’t a backdrop—it’s her foundation. She speaks of the ocean like an old friend. Her family tree stretches through generations of Hawaiian, Filipino, and European ancestry, braided tightly with community and storytelling.
She doesn’t say “acting career.” She says “journey.”
“I come from a place where you don’t just take up space. You offer something. You listen. So going into this—being Nani—I wasn’t just asking, ‘How do I act this?’ I was asking, ‘How do I honor this?’”
The film’s production leaned into that authenticity. Scenes were shot on real beaches on O‘ahu and Kaua‘i, using local artisans, advisors, and musicians. The director, Dean Fleischer Camp, was adamant about working with Hawaiian talent—on and off camera. But Agudong brought more than regional knowledge. She brought emotional fluency.
Building Nani: Not Just Strong, But Whole
The new Nani isn’t animated in pixels—she’s sculpted from complexity. She still cooks, works double shifts, negotiates with social workers, and comforts a grieving sister. But she also dreams. She wants more for herself—and for Lilo.
“She wants a future where they don’t just survive,” Agudong says. “She wants Lilo to see what’s possible.”
That’s why the film explores Nani’s academic journey. Her passion for marine life becomes more than character detail—it’s the soul of her arc. Her decision to pursue school, even temporarily leaving Lilo with their grandmother Tūtū, sparked online debate. But Agudong stands by it.
“We have to normalize women—especially women of color—choosing growth and caregiving. Choosing to evolve.”
In a pivotal scene, Nani dives into the ocean after Stitch, who’s been swept into a riptide. The moment is silent, terrifying, beautiful. It’s not just a rescue—it’s a rebirth. When she emerges, breathless and soaked, it’s clear: she’s no longer caught between childhood and adulthood. She’s forged something new.
Training in Saltwater
Before filming, Agudong trained in surf safety, underwater performance, and open ocean rescue drills. She jokes about swallowing half the Pacific but reflects on the process like it was sacred.
“I didn’t just want to look like I belonged in the water,” she says. “I wanted to be of it.”
Her athleticism is evident on-screen—especially in surf scenes that flash back to Nani’s teenage years. These glimpses show us who she was before loss: a fearless surfer, a girl with medals, a young woman still laughing.
“Those moments matter,” Agudong says. “They show what she gave up. And what she’s still made of.”
The Ocean as Character
If the film has a second protagonist, it’s the sea. The camera lingers on crashing waves, quiet lagoons, and coral reefs. The ocean isn’t just setting—it’s metaphor, mirror, medicine.
Agudong explains it simply:
“Water has always been how we cleanse, how we return, how we remember. It’s memory in motion.”
Several scenes are near-wordless, told through movement, surf, or tide. In one sequence, Nani stands waist-deep in a bay at dawn, chanting a prayer as the tide rolls in. There’s no subtitle. The meaning is spiritual.
Stitch, Lilo, and the Meaning of ‘Ohana’
At the emotional center of the film remains the connection between Lilo and Nani—two sisters doing their best in the wake of profound loss. Lilo, played by newcomer Maia Kealoha, is a revelation: mischievous, grieving, funny, strange. And Agudong becomes her anchor.
Their scenes together are raw, filled with real tension and tenderness. Fights feel unscripted. Silences linger. One moment, they’re yelling. The next, they’re wrapped in a beach towel, watching waves.
“That’s real sibling energy,” Agudong laughs. “Maia is brilliant. She taught me to let go. To stop performing and just be.”
Stitch, voiced once again by Chris Sanders, provides chaos, heart, and continuity. His arrival doesn’t fix things—it forces them to grow. His presence reframes what family looks like.
“The idea of ohana isn’t about perfection. It’s about holding on, even when everything else falls apart.”
Walking Through Fire: Culture and Critique
With any legacy film, scrutiny follows. Some fans worried that updates would sanitize or distort the original’s emotional gravity. Others voiced concern over representation, colorism, or the risks of Americanizing a deeply Hawaiian narrative.
Agudong acknowledges those conversations with clarity.
“People care because this story matters. And it should be held to a high standard.”
She cites the inclusion of Hawaiian consultants, fluent native speakers, and elders in the script review process. The film also incorporates real ‘oli (chants), lei-making traditions, and mele (songs), grounding it in tangible cultural rituals.
“This isn’t about ‘fixing’ Nani or Lilo or Stitch,” she says. “It’s about expanding their world, giving them space to breathe in the present.”
Generations in the Frame
Tia Carrere, who voiced Nani in the original, returns here as Mrs. Kekoa—a school principal with deep ties to the girls. Amy Hill plays Tūtū, the sisters’ grandmother and spiritual guide. Both women bring gravitas, humor, and validation.
“To have them with us wasn’t just comforting,” Agudong says. “It was permission. Like they were saying, ‘You’re ready. Go.’”
In a standout moment near the end of the film, Carrere’s character reminds Nani that being strong doesn’t mean going it alone.
“There’s strength in choosing softness, too,” she tells her.
It’s a line Agudong says she still thinks about every day.
Beyond the Screen: What It Means to Come Home
When asked what she hopes audiences take from the film, Agudong pauses. She doesn’t talk about box office numbers or reviews. Instead, she talks about a moment after the premiere.
She had flown back to Kaua‘i for a community screening. Afterward, an elderly woman approached her. She held Agudong’s hand, looked her in the eye, and said:
“That was my niece. That was me. That was us.”
Agudong chokes up recalling it.
“That’s the win. Right there.”
Ideologue
Sydney Agudong’s Nani isn’t a copy of the past. She’s a portrait in motion—equal parts muscle, ache, and memory. Through her, the Lilo & Stitch remake achieves something rare: it honors what came before without clinging to it. It invites us into a future shaped by family, community, and waves we’re still learning to ride.
“We don’t always get to tell our stories the way we live them,” Agudong says. “But this time, we did.”
The ocean rolls on. The wind shifts. And a new Nani stands, surfboard in hand, ready for the next swell.
