Extremely, incredibly exploitive

Ten years after New York was hit by an unbearable act of savagery, the gloves have come off in Hollywood.

A new movie genre has emerged that’s bound to dazzle and nauseate every breathing American, particularly New Yorkers still suffering from post-traumatic stress.

I’ll call it . . . 9/11 porn.

Osama bin Laden would have loved this.

The Internet and TV have been ablaze for a month with unavoidable advertisements for “Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close,” a movie that does for the monsters who brought down the World Trade Center what “Triumph of the Will” did for a guy named Adolf.

Opening tomorrow from The Bronx to Des Moines, it’s a tale about love, loss and the abject exploitation of the dead and the living. Unlike grieving, real-life relatives of the souls who perished on 9/11 — folks who wouldn’t honor this movie by accepting free popcorn — I went to see it.

This movie tells lies.

It stars a weird 11-year-old overprivileged Manhattan boy, Oskar Schell (“Jeopardy” whiz kid Thomas Horn), who’s afflicted with a form of autism, likely Asperger’s syndrome. His condition is presented as nobly as the disability of the John Nash character in “A Beautiful Mind” — minus the brilliance and charm.

The schmaltzy flick is a kind of “Rocky” for an entitled, self-absorbed and self-mutilating boy. Except the triumph the child experiences is over moviegoers, who plunk down significant bucks to see this rot.

The movie concerns the boy’s quixotic attempt to hold on to his dad (Tom Hanks), who was murdered in the Trade Center. Yes, I wrote “murder.” But you won’t hear that word uttered by anyone in the film, because 9/11 is presented here as a kind of cosmic accident. Like lightning.

The message isn’t “love one another.” It’s “sh-t happens.”

The kid spends months combing New York, from borough to borough, searching for a mysterious lock that, he’s convinced, can be opened only by a key he believes his dad left behind for him to find.

The horrid boy curses out his doorman, played by an underutilized John Goodman (“Succotash my ball sac”), and cruelly abuses his mom (a weepy Sandra Bullock).

Appearing in every last frame of the film, the kid becomes the movie’s only identifiable terrorist. He tells his defeated mom, “I wish it were you in the building instead of him.”

“So do I,” she replies.

Nothing is spared in the quest for emotional blackmail, cheap thrills and a naked ploy for an Oscar.

In flashbacks, people dying in the towers are heard on the telephone — coughing, gasping and ripping the phone from the hands of one another.