Many parts of it were.  It was a fabulously original film with great graphics, cool action sequences, and a really wonderful hook.  The plot built, engaged, twisted, and then at the end it just kind of rolled over and died.

I was with 9 right up until that ending, because it was clearly a movie that was loved by its creators.  All the little ragdolls, with their unique looks and characters, spoke of love in a big way.  So did the unique use of music. And all of the wonderful detail.

When a project is loved, that usually means it’s going to be awesome.  Up was clearly loved.  So were Alien and Apollo 13. In the game world, we’ve got offerings like Lego Star Wars, Plants vs. Zombies, Guitar Hero.   And so many other movies, books, games, and TV shows that I can’t possibly list them all.

Loving your project means being willing to abide with it long enough to find all the little details that bring out its heart.  This is not an easy thing.  It is fundamentally sort of terrifying to spend time in a world of your creation.  Because if something is askew, amiss, feeble, or overwrought, it is all your fault.

Loving your project, then, requires faith not just in your work, but in yourself.

9 was loved.  I’m sure of it.  But 9 also fell flat at the end.  Why, I don’t know.  But here’s a guess: perhaps 9 illustrates one of the pitfalls of loving your project: loving it too much.  Loving it so much that you are no longer able to view it critically, so much that you become wed to your initial ideas and fail to seek improvements.

So I will simply try out a new maxim I’ve been floating around in my head for a while:

Story is about change. Character is about constancy.

Whoever wrote the new Star Trek movie Gets It. Which is why, despite any of its charming imperfections, we hard-core Trekkies love it.

And as we did, I realized just how much I’d come to understand the masculine mind.

The plot centers on a fight between Rocky and Apollo Creed, the Heavyweight Champion of the World. Rocky knows the fight will bring in a lot of money for his struggling family, but he’s doubting his ability to beat the champ — doubting his ability to even stand toe to toe with him and walk away intact. He explains this to his wife, Adrian, and she says, and I quote,

“You have nothing to prove.”

Brutal! Adrian, baby. Tell me you didn’t just say that.

Now, before my marriage I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have heard that line as such a slap in the face. But living with a dude for six years seems to have had more of an effect on me than I realized. For those of you who don’t speak Man, allow me to translate that exchange into Woman for you.

Rocky: Do these jeans make my butt look fat?
Adrian: I love you just the way you are.

Brutal! Do you notice how Adrian did not tell Rocky that his butt didn’t look fat? How she skirted the whole issue at hand with that namby-pamby “I love you” crap? Why would she do a thing like that? Did she honestly think Rocky wouldn’t notice?

The only possible response when your wife says “Do these jeans make my butt look fat?” is “Hell, no!” And the only possible response when your husband asks you “Do you believe I can do this?” is “Hell, yes!”

Because just like we chicks want our men to view us as supermodels, guys want their women to view them as Superman. This isn’t always easy, especially if the thing your man wants to do is something you’d really prefer he didn’t. This is Adrian’s problem; she’d much rather Rocky get a nice, simple job that doesn’t involve being repeatedly punched in the face.

Which of course is what happens in the final fight. And this, Mark explained to me, is why boxing is a representation of the essential male struggle. It’s not about delivering the beatdown; it’s about taking the beating. And then finding the faith in yourself you need to get up again. That’s Rocky’s final victory: not over the champ, but over his own self-doubt.

What strange, beautiful creatures these men are! I think they may be worthy of further study.