A quest for something left behind may make a fine symbol for trying to reconnect with a lost loved one. But as the admirably sincere Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close proves, it doesn’t necessarily make for compelling drama.

Tragedy begets an obsession, as 9-year-old Oskar Schell (newcomer Thomas Horn) finds a key left behind by his father, who died during the attacks on the Twin Towers in New York City. Determined to find the lock it opens, Oskar embarks on a citywide journey that is more exhausting than exhilarating.

His dad, Thomas Schell (Tom Hanks, in a warm turn), is the kind of idealized father who dotes on his son, gives him good advice and encourages him to be curious. So strong is their relationship that Thomas’s death drives the exceedingly bright boy to craft a well-organized plan to find a single lock in a city of millions.

Oskar, who is depicted as functionally autistic, is convinced that if he doesn’t solve his puzzle in time, the connection to his father will be lost forever. His determination soon compels a mute elderly lodger (Max von Sydow) living with Oskar’s grandmother to join the search.

Directing from the Jonathan Safran Foer novel of the same name, Stephen Daldry (The Hours, Billy Elliot) lays on the postmodern narrative techniques and obvious emotional cues. But all the stylized imagery (including bodies falling from the towers) ends up working against the film, as it aestheticizes grief to a point that is numbing. No amount of crying — neither from Oskar nor from his mom (Sandra Bullock) — can give Extremely Loud the emotional core it needs to resonate.

To whatever degree it exploits the events of 9/11 and the audience’s capacity for sympathy, these failings are overshadowed by a redundant story that goes nowhere even as it won’t stop moving. Searching for the key, adventures with the grandmother’s tenant, flashbacks to what Oskar too-preciously and insufficiently calls “the worst day” — all of it is carefully crafted in the service of a touching ending whose power is dissipated by the two relentless hours preceding it.

Daldry strives for an artistic representation of a boy’s ability to accept his father’s untimely death and find the strength to move on — to discover the self-actualization that the key represents. But Extremely Loud doesn’t satisfactorily face the horror of losing a parent. Instead, it comes close to gazing too long at its own capacity for sensitivity.