Drama creates discomfort

National tragedies do not make for the best film subjects. Filmmakers must be careful to bring respect and truth to their story's characters without abusing the material in a manner that would upset or insult audiences. Sadly, "Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close" threatens to do just that with its depiction of a boy coping with the death of his father who died during the terrorist attacks Sept. 11, 2001.

In fairness to director Stephen Daldry and screenwriter Eric Roth, the novel of the same name by author Jonathan Safran Foer would be an immense challenge for even the finest in their business. And their work is not without strengths. But unfortunately, the film feels too manipulative in the way it plays on viewers' emotions.

Oskar Schell (Thomas Horn) is a socially awkward child suffering from multiple phobias and possibly Asperger's syndrome — Oskar states he was tested for the disorder, but the results were inconclusive. His father, Thomas (Tom Hanks), has tried repeatedly to draw Oskar from his anti-social cocoon. He seems to be making significant progress thanks to a scavenger hunt intended to broaden Oskar's interactions with others … until "the worst day."

Devastated by his father's death and haunted by a series of phone messages left by Thomas on the family's answering machine during the final hour and a half before the World Trade Center towers collapsed, Oskar distances himself from the world. His mother (Sandra Bullock) tries, but ultimately is unable to connect with him.

Sifting through his father's closet, Oskar stumbles upon a lone key in an envelope with the name "Black" on it. Certain they represent clues to one last scavenger hunt, Oskar begins a journey that requires him to have the courage to seek out and question 472 New Yorkers with the surname "Black." Although it is an interesting, bittersweet concept, Oskar's adventure feels unrealistic and, at times, melodramatic.

The scavenger hunt serves as the stage for a slew of humorous, sorrowful and visibly complex individuals to make relatively little impact on the story or its main character. Indeed, the most important and interesting encounter Oskar has isn't with one of the people he meets while searching for the key's purpose. The Renter (Max von Sydow), an elderly man staying with Oskar's grandmother (Zoe Caldwell), hasn't spoken but a few words in more than 70 years, and yet, he and Oskar understand one another better than two people possibly could. Von Sydow provides a dignity to the film that otherwise is lacking. Through a subtle smirk or a weary long face, the veteran actor conveys the natural emotion absent in scenes wherein images of the World Trade Center towers billowing smoke are imposed into the New York City skyline. 

Shots with superimposed footage are an unnecessary reminder of what happened that September morning. It's in moments when the film tries to move the audience back in time to the period in which we all lived in the shadow of the attacks that "Extremely Loud" loses its already precarious footing. What Oskar continually refers to as "the worst day" is permanently etched in the minds of Americans. Seeing the towers on fire and collapsing removes a viewer from the film altogether — transporting a person to the moment they first saw the same images. Such thoughts weigh so heavily on one's heart and mind that it becomes almost impossible to set those aside for the sake of Oskar and his mysterious key. 

Yes, tears are unavoidable when hearing Oskar describe his father's last words on the answering machine. But crying also feels uncomfortable — even cheap. What comes to mind for many is most likely the countless stories of real messages left on answering machines throughout Manhattan that day. To have one's grief for real people channeled into sorrow for fictional characters who are not fully developed seems disrespectful. 

It's an arduous task to want to like "Extremely Loud." Considering the plot and the familiar actors, it's easy to see why audiences might want to embrace it. Perhaps everyone should try — it might be cathartic in a strange way for some viewers. And yet, there remains a nagging discomfort in being cued to weep for a real tragedy in our lives as if it were just any other sad plot point.