Making a movie that revolves around Sept. 11 is a risky endeavor. Downplaying the significance of the day seems disrespectful, and over-indulgence seems tasteless and cheapens the other events depicted. Pulling off a respectful film involves a certain level of tact and careful treading. Director Stephen Daldry's adaptation of Jonathan Safran Foer's novel Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close does manage to avoid both pitfalls, but it unfortunately fails to use 9/11 significantly enough to deem its inclusion necessary.

The story follows Oskar Schell (Thomas Horn), a wide-eyed 11-year-old whose father (Tom Hanks) dies in the World Trade Center attacks. While coping with the death and searching through his father's belongings, Oskar finds an envelope labeled "Black." Inside the envelope is a key, which Oskar believes his father left behind for him. Oskar then devotes all of his attention to finding what the key unlocks and decides to visit people with the surname "Black," finding their addresses from the telephone book. This quest involves Oskar literally walking—he fears the subways—his way across all five boroughs on an improbable search.

For a protagonist, Oskar can be a lot to handle. Throughout the film, he never loses his initial intensity and treats every interaction as if the answer to his riddle is right around the corner. What the film's trailers market as a whimsical journey is in fact an important mission for Oskar. He constantly questions everyone, and his search seems so much larger than this solitary young boy that it's tough not to feel like the journey is a bit pointless. His energy, while refreshing and necessary to keep this journey interesting, can also become a bit exhausting.

Not only do we follow Oskar, we're forced into his neurosis. The streets feel extra crowded, we're disgusted by people we see eating meat (Oskar is vegan), we share in his guilt over missing the final phone call from his father; we're part audience and part participant. The camera often moves from his eye-level upward, and even when we aren't seeing the world from his perspective, we're still rapidly following him. While this energy keeps us engaged, at 129 minutes, you might need an hour to recharge after the credits roll.

When the audience isn't tagging along with Oskar, his parents are, either through flashbacks with his father or consolation and comfort by his mother (Sandra Bullock), who also struggles to completely connect with Oskar. The relationship with his father feels authentic and important, a credit to both Hanks and the film's writer, Eric Roth. Hanks is perfect in his limited opportunities to act as a father, both infinitely patient and even indulging to Oskar's wonder. Bullock has even fewer significant chances to show off her acting prowess but makes the most of them, seeming nurturing and patient, something Oskar requires in his particular state of grief. She's likely in the film to help sell tickets, but to her credit, she gives as much as is demanded from her. Regardless of what the advertisements and billboards say, this isn't Hanks' and Bullock's movie; It's Horn's.

Oskar's tiresome nature certainly isn't Horn's fault, as he does the role justice and carries a story that is much larger than his character. Yet he would tire out even the most patient audience member not given another character to explore. The most rewarding relationship is the one between Oskar and an elderly man living with Oskar's grandmother called the Renter (Max von Sydow), who is mute and only communicates using a notepad. The pair is complementarily quirky and lovable, and their relationship gives way to the touching story behind the Renter's muteness, which occured in another tragedy.

While the Renter's story reminds us of the various detrimental effects of tragedy, it also feels partly unnecessary; in fact, the entire setting feels unnecessary. Oskar's story would work even without the backdrop of a terrorist attack. Since when is an 11-year-old child losing his father not compelling enough? Sure, 9/11 helps instantly create an atmosphere of uncertainty, but it also feels like a cheap way to play at our emotions.

Everyone has his or her own way of healing, and while it's interesting to see different people grieving over a shared experience, you can't help but get the feeling that Roth doesn't quite trust his material or the audience. While I haven't read the book, if the movie is true to its source, then both should suffer from the same issue. The relationships are solid enough, the characters have enough depth, and the issues are universally applicable. Setting the events to revolve around 9/11 doesn't offend as much as it leaves us scratching our heads once we take off the emotional blinders. It's easy to get drawn in by a story involving 9/11, but an objective look may make its inclusion feel like a ploy. Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close isn't a bad movie, but the story still feels weighed down, even when Horn is trying so hard to lift us up.