Lilo and Stritch

No, that's not it. We want a Disney style CGI STRITCH, not a caricature of her as a bioengineered extraterrestrial. She's stranded in Hawaii and is recruited by Lilo to impersonate a long lost adult relative in front of the social services people bothering her and her sister. Only instead of doing hulas and singing Elvis hits Stritch sings Sondheim and Coward and bullies the fuck out of anyone trying to mess with her "kids."

Lilo & Stritch

“She’s 6. She wants a friend. She gets a cabaret legend instead.”

In this reimagined animated musical-comedy, lonely Hawaiian girl Lilo Pelekai adopts what she believes is a peculiar blue dog from the animal shelter—except it’s Stritch, a martini-soaked, chain-smoking alien cabaret chanteuse exiled from her home planet for refusing to do another revival of Company.

Stritch—once known as Experiment 224, now rebranded simply as “Elaine”—doesn’t crash-land on Earth so much as storm off it, fed up with intergalactic showbiz politics. Sent to Earth to “cool off,” she instead storms into Lilo’s quiet island life in a cloud of sarcasm, perfume, and jazz standards.

Where Stitch was chaos incarnate, Stritch is passive-aggressive glamor with a side of existential dread. She doesn’t destroy furniture—she critiques it. She doesn’t steal spaceships—she steals scenes. But under her withering quips and rhinestone-studded glare lies a broken alien soul who, like Lilo, just wants to belong.

Together, they navigate bullies, intergalactic bounty hunters, and the hard realities of childhood grief—all while Stritch tries to mount a one-woman show at the local community center titled “I’m Still Here (And Still on Probation).”

Featuring songs like “Ladies Who Lunch (in Waikiki)” and “Aloha, Darling,” this heartfelt misfit musical teaches us that family means “nobody gets left behind… but everyone gets notes.”

[italic]Rewrite The Exorcist, except the Demon behaves Iike Elaine Stritch.[/italic]

THE EXORCIST: LIVE AT LINCOLN CENTER

A jazzed-up reimagining of William Friedkin’s horror classic, where the devil wears no pants, drinks martinis straight, and sings Sondheim in hell’s original key.

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SYNOPSIS:

Something’s wrong with Regan MacNeil. Once a sweet, quiet girl, she’s begun behaving… strangely. There’s the growling, the levitating, the sudden command of Latin—and worst of all, she’s developed a raspy voice, an acid wit, and a tendency to launch into withering monologues about the decline of American theatre.

Her mother, Chris, an actress herself, suspects something supernatural—especially after Regan interrupts a dinner party by croaking out a flawless rendition of “The Ladies Who Lunch,” staring directly at the Bishop of Washington D.C.

Desperate, Chris turns to the Catholic Church. Enter Father Karras: a brooding young priest with a crisis of faith, high cheekbones, and absolutely no experience with theatrical divas. When he first meets Regan, the air goes cold—and the room transforms into a smoky cabaret, complete with a ghost pianist named Morty. Regan, now fully possessed by the spirit of Elaine Stritch (or some infernal variation thereof), addresses Karras directly:

“Let me tell you something, Father. You think you’re scared? Try doing Company in a matinee with a sinus infection and no understudy.”

Karras, rattled, calls for backup. The Church responds by sending in Father Merrin, a seasoned exorcist who once banished a Vegas lounge act from a haunted hotel in Reno. Stoic and solemn, Merrin comes prepared with holy water, Latin incantations, and earplugs.

But the demon has other plans.

What follows is a dazzling, nightmarish collision of sacred ritual and showbiz flair. Regan’s room becomes a revolving stage set, shifting from backstage dressing rooms to a smoky cocktail lounge to a crumbling proscenium arch suspended over the abyss. The demon taunts the priests with savage wit and theatrical anecdotes, mocks their celibacy, critiques their posture, and refuses to leave without a standing ovation.

Through possession, the demon draws out each man’s hidden vulnerabilities: Karras’s guilt over his mother’s death is turned into a Broadway torch song; Merrin’s doubts are laid bare in a tap number performed by ghostly chorus boys in clerical collars.

As the exorcism reaches its fever pitch, the demon delivers one final monologue:

“You know what hell is, boys? It’s not fire. It’s not damnation. It’s understudies. It’s opening night with no rehearsal. It’s waking up every morning wondering if anyone still remembers your name… and doing the damn show anyway.”

In a final act of sacrifice, Karras invites the demon to possess him instead. The demon obliges—but Karras is no stage for Stritch. He hurls himself out the window, not with horror, but with a knowing smirk and a perfectly timed bow.

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EPILOGUE: Regan recovers. Chris, now inspired by the ordeal, writes a one-woman play about the whole thing—Hell Is For Hams—which opens off-Broadway to mixed reviews but a cult following.

And somewhere, deep in the shadows of the afterlife, the demon lounges in a spotlight, sipping a martini and whispering, “I’m still here…”

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Tagline: “The devil doesn’t need your soul. She wants your spotlight.”