Bus a gripping, vital cautionary tale
On the morning of November 8, 2018, a powerline from a tower owned by Pacific Gas and Electric Co. broke during a windstorm and fell to the ground in northern Butte County, California. Having gone without rain for 121 days, the area was a tinderbox waiting for the slightest spark to ignite. Aided by 60 mph winds, the fire spread over an area of 153,000 acres, burned for 17 days and resulted in 85 deaths. Property damage was estimated to be $16.65 billion, as the communities of Concow, Magalia, Butte Creek Canyon and Paradise were wiped off the map.
As with most incidents of this sort, heroic deeds were performed, not simply by firefighters and other emergency personnel but by ordinary citizens as well. Paul Greengrass’ The Lost Bus tells the story of one such man and woman, a school bus driver and teacher who find themselves in the midst of this disaster while trying to shepherd 22 children to a safe zone. Intense performances from the two leads, as well as the immersive approach Greengrass has become known for makes for a harrowing and ultimately moving experience.
Having returned home to Paradise with his distant teenage son in tow, Kevin McKay (Matthew McConaughey) is living with his ailing mother. Attempting to start over after his marriage has fallen apart, he’s taken a job as bus driver, a position that hardly pays the bills or bolsters his self-esteem. Often late and shirking his most basic responsibilities, it’s obvious he’s far from invested in the job. So, it comes as a bit of a surprise to his supervisor (Ashlie Atkinson) when McKay volunteers to transport a group of children and their teacher to an evacuation point as, what will come to be called the Camp Fire, approaches Paradise.
Mary Ludwig (America Ferrera) initially doesn’t grasp the enormity of the disaster headed their way as she loads her 22 young charges on McKay’s bus. However, she soon learns the dire straits they’re in when they end up unable to move on the main road out of town and the fire rapidly surrounds them. Things become more dire when they reach their destination, only to find it abandoned and on fire. With radio and phone communication down, McKay is unsure where to go yet keeps on the move in the hopes that an avenue to safety will reveal itself.
Greengrass cuts back and forth between these events and scenes of firefighting officials and their attempts to contain the fire. This allows us to be privy to the systematic inadequacies they had to contend with, Chief Martinez (Yul Vazquez) scrambling to move his resources about in a frantic effort to arrest this disaster and save those in peril. Screenwriters Brad Ingelsby and Lizzie Johnson are far from critical of their efforts. Rather, these scenes are an indictment of those who refuse to recognize the changes in the environment that contribute to disasters of this nature.
As he did with United 93 and Captain Phillips, Greengrass employs a handheld camera and tight shots, the result being a claustrophobic, intimate experience that replicates the all-consuming nature of the disaster. The constant darkness produced by the smoke contributes to the idea there’s no escape from the fire and that McKay’s efforts are getting him nowhere. It’s a very effective approach that separates the filmmaker’s work from that of the run-of-the-mill disaster movie. The intensity he creates always proves unnerving, and as a result, raises the emotional stakes and our investment in the film.
Contributing to this are the turns from McConaughey, Ferrera and the young actors they share the screen with. The genuine nature of their efforts compliment Greengrass’ approach, all of it creating an experience that taps into our primal fears, leaving the viewer as exhausted at the characters they’re rooting for. While Bus’ strongest suit is the vicarious experience it provides, the overall message of the movie should not be ignored. Innocent people are caught in the crosshairs of partisan politics. A call for environmental reform is at the heart of this cautionary tale, its warning likely to fall on disinterested ears, as they continue to regard the harm done to innocent citizens and the loss of all they own just so much collateral damage for our continued way of life. Streaming on Apple TV+.
Dynamic star turn saves Good Boy
Ostensibly a gimmick film, Ben Leonberg’s Good Boy gets by on the charm of its four-legged lead and the novelty of its premise. Shot on a shoestring budget and running a scant 72 minutes, it’s a modest undertaking. Yet, it took over 400 days, stretched out over three years, to shoot, the language barrier between the filmmaker and his star, Indy, as photogenic a dog as you’ll ever see, proving problematic. The final product shows Leonberg tripped up repeatedly by his lack of funds as well as shortcomings as a filmmaker. However, these limitations end up helping the movie as it doesn’t overstay its welcome, exiting stage left just as the premise is wearing thin.
Background information regarding the human characters is cursory at best. But I suppose screenwriters Alex Cannon and Leonberg can be forgiven, if we’re to assume they’re doing so to put us in the shoes (paws) of their dynamic lead, Indy. This loyal dog could care less about what job his master has, just as long as his bowl is full, treats are provided and belly rubs are frequent. What Indy does realize is that Todd (Shane Jensen) is very sick, often bleeding from the nose and repeatedly dealing with body-wracking coughing fits.
Much to the consternation of his sister, Vera (Arielle Freidman), Todd and Indy head out to an abandoned farm where their grandfather once lived. Having died under mysterious circumstances, the house is said to be haunted by the locals. Looking at old VHS tapes of grandpa, displaying the same symptoms Todd has, it quickly becomes apparent something is amiss. Inexplicable shadows and sounds are seen and heard on these recordings, events Indy and his master soon witness themselves.
Animals, particularly dogs and horses, being able to sense supernatural presences long before humans is a horror story trope and Good Boy explores this to great effect. Indy is spooked by figures lurking in the shadows, sounds in the woods and even a ghost dog. We’re privy to them as well, allowing us to share in the dog’s fear and frustration, his efforts to warn Todd to get out of Dodge, falling on deaf ears.
It comes as no surprise there’s no cinematographer listed in the credits. It’s woefully obvious Leonberg served as his own director of photography and simply relied on natural lighting throughout. This results in many key shots being far too dark, leaving it impossible to discern who is in them or what is occurring. More times than not, this happens when the monster in question appears, and while this may have been done to obscure cheap costuming or special effects, it just leads to frustration. Quick editing and sudden camera moves compound this problem. Again, if you wish, this can be written off as purposeful, if you buy into the notion we’re seeing all of this from Indy’s eyes. His knee-level point of view is utilized throughout to underscore his vulnerability, what with his limited point of view.
As for Indy, he’s a charmer from first frame to last. You’ll be forgiven if at times you wonder just what Leonberg was doing off camera to get his canine star to tilt his head a certain way or make him scamper into the woods. Then again, that’s part of Good Boy’s appeal as it works on two levels. As a thriller, it’s barely sufficient, but as a document focused on the interaction between dogs and humans, both on screen and off, it proves to be an engaging exercise from beginning to end. In Theaters.
Murphy anchors intense Steve
Utilizing a fly-on-the-wall approach and capitalizing on a dynamic performance from Cillian Murphy, Tim Mielents’ Steve is an immersive experience that, at times, you wish you could keep at arm’s length. Intense from the word “go,” it charts one 24-hour period in the life of a well-meaning but overwhelmed English school teacher, a single day that sees him put through the wringer on a variety of fronts. While the intent is sound, Max Porter’s script is overwhelmed with incident. A sense that far too much is being piled on the titular character sets in after he puts out the fourth or fifth fire of his day and the strain begins to set on him as well as the viewer. It all becomes a bit much, though Murphy’s performance elicits and sustains our sympathy throughout.
Taking place in 1996, the Stanton Wood Manor is a reform school for young men who’ve exhausted every opportunity in England’s education system. This is their last stop before being cast out on their own and each tax each staff member’s patience. The institution in question is a pressure-cooker, an understaffed, underfunded operation coming apart at the seams. Fights are a daily occurrence as is blatant disrespect toward teachers; academics are an afterthought. Yet Steve, Shola (Little Simz), Amanda (Tracey Ullman) and Jenny (Emily Watson) persevere, often to their own detriment.
Over the course of this seemingly endless day, the staff is told the institution is shutting down, host a disastrous visit from a member of Parliament, deals with a suicide attempt and must contend with a documentary film crew that’s come to do a news story. Mielents’ camera hovers over Steve’s shoulder throughout, following him relentlessly as he attempts to juggle these various crises. It’s an effective approach, its vicarious nature allowing the viewer to feel the protagonist’s mounting stress, the camera becoming more jittery as Steve falls apart.
The director employs this method during the film’s first two acts only to abandon it when things reach a fever pitch. Suddenly, the camera is flying through the air, doing summersaults and careening about the grounds, when Shy (Jay Lycurgo), one of the most troubled students, goes missing. It’s a jarring change that shatters the documentary-like approach Mielents effectively created, a curious move that nearly derails the entire production.
Thankfully, our emotional investment in the characters is enough to keep us engaged. Murphy is not an overtly expressive actor, rather he’s a master at internalizing his characters’ feelings and thoughts, expressing them with subtle power. He employs this approach early on, only to become uncharacteristically expressive as Steve’s world crumbles. It’s a bracing, effective change. His veteran co-stars, Ullman and Watson, are underused but, as we’ve come to expect, each makes an impression with the limited time they have.
Porter manages to walk a fine line in wrapping up the story. After being immersed in such a volatile environment, it would seem disingenuous to suggest there’s any hope at all for Shy and his brethren. Yet, a chance at redemption is hinted at that avoids being cloying or manipulative. The path to some sort of pseudo-happiness for these kids is unlikely, but not impossible. Much of this hinges on teachers such as Steve, educators whose greatest weapon is their empathy and selflessness. They still exist, but their numbers are dwindling, and Steve serves as yet another reminder that we take them for granted and we will all ultimately pay the price for doing so. Streaming on Netflix.
This article appears in October 2-8, 2025.
