For an event to unite a generation, it has to be monumental. To unite a generation, something must be so big that it was universally experienced in some way.

For the Lost Generation, the pointlessness of World War I spurred people to create beautiful, devastating art and literature.

For the Baby Boomers, the end of World War II gave hope that America could make it through anything, even if it meant a few very deep scars and some hefty psychological burdens.

Flash forward through the radical, music fueled haze of the ‘60s and ‘70s, the Cold War of the ‘80s, and the racial tensions of the ‘90s and you arrive at us. For a while, it looked like our uniting, universal experience was going to be the song "All Star" by Smash Mouth (which still may be partially true). While almost 95 percent of people who grew up in the ‘90s can recant all of the lyrics to that song on demand, 100 percent of them can tell you where they were on 9/11.

Though many of us might not have completely realized the gravity of the situation at the time, it seeming so far away to those of us who weren't in New York City when it happened, all of us can remember how eerie that day was. The hushed silence over the country as it looked on in disbelief at what had just happened to the Twin Towers—the supposed structural embodiments of America's infallibility.

Everyone can remember how stricken their parents were as they watched those two buildings burst into smoke and crumble over and over, on a seemingly infinite loop on TV. Even though it was far away, the effect it had was anything but local.

Post-9/11, anything related to the Twin Towers was taboo. Clear Channel, the communication company that owns most of the radio stations across the country, issued a list of 165 songs forbidden from being played live on air that included "Disco Inferno," "Hit Me With Your Best Shot" and the entire Rage Against the Machine catalogue. The trailer for "Spider Man" was revoked by Sony because of a clip with the Twin Towers in the city skyline. The only way the nation was allowed to address the event was with Red, White and Blue patriotism, or mournful sentimentality. There was no subtlety allowed when we talked about 9/11. Eleven years and two wars later, that much is clear.

Jonathan Safran Foer's "Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close" was first published in 2005, and was arguably the first serious work of popular art to deal with 9/11 with any kind of subtlety. The book follows quirky 9-year-old amateur entomologist Francophile and scientist Oskar Schell, who has just lost his father in the attacks. Oskar spends the book searching for the answer to a riddle that may bring him closer to his father. The book was notable not only for touching on 9/11, but also breaking ground stylistically—Foer doesn't just write on a page, he writes for the dimensions of a page. Throughout the book, words will be circled in red, text will get so cluttered that it will overlap into an unreadable mess, sentences will stand barren in the center of empty pages—the ending of the story is a flipbook.

Foer wrote this story specifically for one physical, artistic medium: a book. That's why the jump to the big screen was worrisome for the extremely loud and incredibly devoted fans of the novel—how can you take something so uniquely written for the page (in the most literal sense) and adapt it to film?

The trailer for the film, which features a wince-worthy montage set to U2's "Where The Streets Have No Name" didn't help its case when it came to high expectations. There's no denying the film adaptation of the novel is Hollywood. Starring Jeopardy whiz-kid Thomas Horn as Oskar, the film gets support from Tom Hanks, Sandra Bullock, Max Von Sydow and John Goodman. And in true Hollywood fashion, the film is not completely faithful to the novel—large sections of the book and major side stories are cut out while other bits are added to make the film more cohesive. It's your standard hack n' slash book-to-film adaptation.

Surprisingly, director Stephen Daldry makes it work. To be clear, the book and the film are very different beasts. While the book used 9/11 more as a device to explore some of Foer's running themes of Jewish identity and finding meaning in family, the film uses 9/11 as its centerpiece. Gone are Foer's quirky stylistic charms and playful prose. This film, while at times funny, is far more interested in telling the story of "the worst day" as Oskar puts it.

Foer's story was divisive when it was published. Many people hailed it as absolute genius—an equal amount dismissed it as an act of precocious gimmickry. One way or another, it succeeded in evoking some emotion in people. This film seems to be doing the same thing. Critics either gush over it (it just picked up an Oscar nomination for Best Picture), or they call it an exploitative, unapologetic tear jerker.

This division is symptomatic of something larger: 11 years later, we are still struggling to make sense of That Day. We are still protective of our memories of That Day when Those Buildings fell. And a lot of people aren't ready to explore those memories yet.

Stephen Daldry did not make this film for people who aren't ready to revisit 9/11.

For those who are ready to go back and take a second look at what happened, this film is spectacular and revelatory for the very same reason it is upsetting so many people. It takes the terrifying, upsetting, uncomfortable plunge, and it succeeds.

Sitting in a theater watching "Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close" is difficult. Scenes where Oskar listens to increasingly worrisome answering machine messages from his father, who is trapped inside the towers, are heart-wrenching. Scenes where Oskar shouts at his mother, saying "I wish it was you in the building" are extremely painful. Watching this little boy throw himself head on at strangers across New York City to try and make sense of the loss of his father will probably make you cry, even if you don't want to.

But this film is not cheap. It's not exploitative.

It's honest.

It's honest about the one event that unites our generation. As college students, we can watch movies about WWII and Vietnam and know that they are tragic and sad. However, we didn't live through WWII or Vietnam. We lived through 9/11. And for that reason, "Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close" is different from any other film you've seen. It's different because you were there. You were probably about Oskar's age. It's eerie, and it digs deeper into you than most films for that reason.

This film will rip your heart out—but it's okay, because it finally gives meaning to a day that still hardly makes sense. This film reminds us that everyone has lost something.

Only on That Day, we all lost something together.

Kelton may be reached at entertainment@su-spectator.com