And yet it is discernible to some, which is more than enough – it still exists.
No. The story is still there. No part is inherently missing as a result of the gore.
OK, let me try one more imperfect analogy which may better illustrate what I meant. Sorry in advance for the length.
Let’s say that my birthday is approaching, and you, my friend, know that my very-most-favorite birthday cake in the world is vanilla cake with lemon-cream frosting.
Because you are a kind and generous person, you want to make this the most memorable cake ever! For the frosting, you buy six different varieties of lemon, the finest imported sugar, and cream from an organic-fed, free-range cow that lives in California (since we all know that “happy cows come from California”

). It’s going to be nothing short of amazing!
The big day arrives, and you’re putting the finishing touches on the frosting, just a few minutes before I’m due to arrive, when you realize … with all the preparations for this once-in-a-lifetime, unforgettable frosting … you’ve forgotten the cake! :doh2:
Frantically, you look around the kitchen and notice that you’ve got one lonely little snack cake (meant as a snack for one person) sitting in the cupboard. With a sigh, you proceed to frost the snack cake.
It looks so small there on the plate, so you add just a bit more frosting … and a bit more … and just another dollop … and then you hear the doorbell. Time’s up!
You open the door and lead me to the table … where I see a very large mound of frosting on a plate. I look at you quizzically, and you explain, “It’s your birthday cake! I know, it looks a little strange, but just give it a chance! You’re going to love it!”
So, I scoop the first bite of frosting. It’s certainly very good frosting, and I listen with interest as you describe all the effort expended in searching out the special ingredients, and finding just the right recipe, etc. As you come to the end of your story, I’m still scooping up spoonfuls of frosting, which is unfortunately tasting less and less wonderful by the minute. (If you’re one of those people who eat frosting out of the can, this last sentence won’t make sense, but play along, ok?

)
By the time I reach the bottom of the pile of frosting, I find that the tiny cake has dissolved due to the sheer amount of frosting that was piled on top of it; all that’s left is a gooey, doughy blob at the bottom.
Now, you could certainly argue, in an entirely truthful way, that my plate
did contain cake. There’s no question about it, the cake was there. But the little bit of cake was so overwhelmed by the amount of sugary goop on top of it, that there was absolutely no chance for the birthday girl to really even taste it … it was completely overpowered by the frosting.
Such was my opinion of District 9. Instead of making “a cake with frosting”, they made “frosting with a bit of cake at the bottom”.

A chemist could confirm that the elements or ingredients of the cake were present in that mess at the bottom, just as you or I could confirm that a story was present in District 9 by reading the script. But the execution of the story (like the creation of the cake) caused the story to be “lost in the goop”.
I realize you don’t see it this way, because you were able to look past the sugary mess to get to the cake; I wasn’t. I suppose you could argue that’s a weakness in me rather than a weakness in the filmmaker, if you wanted.

I’ve just never had a high tolerance for frosting (in movies or in cakes

)
Do you accept that the gore may be for any purpose other than pure shock value? If so, then it is part of style and adds a dimension to the story.
Yes, if (and that’s a big ‘if’) done judiciously, and in such a way that it doesn’t overwhelm the story. It’s a delicate balance, and not many filmmakers can achieve it, in my view.