In “9,” there aren’t any humans. The main characters are humanoid “stitchpunks.” They fight robots. Sounds pretty basic, right? Well…yeah, it is. Or it should be. Because the problem is “9” seems scared of being minimalistic, the way the film short on which it’s based was. Instead, it overstates and overemphasizes every plot twist, every motivation, every action sequence, and in the end, this makes “9” soulless.

And that’s a bad thing, because when the world is ruled by machines, your protagonists have to be more than humanoid. They need to be as close to human as they can get.

The movie starts with 9, the diminutive title character, as he leaves behind the comforts of his home, a ransacked laboratory, and enters the world outside. Or, at least what’s left of it.

The earth has, for all intents and purposes, been nuked. Craters polka-dot the landscape, roofs are caved in and wrecked cars litter the unnecessary streets.

The settings are where director Shane Acker shines. In “9,” he’s crafted a visual world that is a treat to take in. It’s gritty and full of spirit, and his characters are charming to look at, too. Every stitchpunk is made out of what looks like cuts of a burlap sack, and Acker places two shutter-like eyes on each netted face. The look is cohesive and a clever blend of working-class soul and machinery.

But, despite the film’s art style, the characters only behave like robots. 9 is, to put it bluntly, a code-munching moron. When he approaches a situation, he sees two courses of action: the right way to do things and the wrong way to do things. And without fail, he always picks the wrong way because thinking would take too much screen time.

In any other movie, 9 would be the village idiot, the one who unintentionally makes fun of himself and slips on a gooey Big Mac carton, while in the foreground, the hero punches the snot out of the bad guys.

But when you look for a leader among the other characters in “9,” no one steps up. 1 is the corrupt leader machine, 7 is the acrobatic warrior apparatus, and 6 is the artsy contraption. They’re all too hollow to be leaders. So you turn to the title (which is “9,” for those keeping count at home), and that’s when you realize that 9, that soulless blockhead with the aimless motto—“Just do it wrong”—is supposed to save the world. And that’s when “9,” the film, starts to fall apart.

The characters’ motivations are riddled with holes, so Acker and co-writer Pamela Pettler wrap the little dudes up in these sweeping statements that are just vague enough that they can’t be argued against. “Life must go on.” Yeah, I suppose that’s true. “I never left. You finally decided to join the fight.” If you say so. “Noooo!” Uh huh. Followed by an explosion.

The dialogue is clumsy, and that makes the actors sound awkward. Elijah Wood sounds like he’s constantly second-guessing his delivery, and John C. Reilly seems like he needs his morning coffee—anything to distract himself from what he’s reading.

In the end, “9” is fun to look at, but I wouldn’t recommend sitting through the whole thing.