The Lost Bus: How Brad Ingelsby and Paul Greengrass Transformed a Tragedy into a Masterclass in Character-Driven Disaster Films

When a natural disaster strikes, heroism often surfaces in the unlikeliest places. For screenwriter Brad Ingelsby, bringing the true events behind The Lost Bus to the screen was both a privilege and a profound responsibility. Based on the 2021 novel Paradise: One Town’s Struggle to Survive an American Wildfire, by Lizzie Johnson, The Lost Bus tells the riveting story of a wayward school bus driver Kevin McKay (Matthew McConaughey) with a strained relationship with his son and a dedicated school teacher Mary Lustig (America Ferrera) battle to save 22 children from the terrifying inferno ravaging their Californian town in 2018.

In this Creative Screenwriting Magazine conversation, Ingelsby reveals the creative process behind adapting a tragedy, the art of balancing authenticity with dramatic tension, and his commitment to honoring the quiet courage of everyday people.

The Importance of Timing: “Not Soon Enough” for The Lost Bus

Adapting real-world tragedy to cinema is never straightforward. Screenwriters must constantly weigh the emotional readiness of those affected and audiences to view a film about a recent event, the risk of exploiting the wildfire tragedy, and the commitment to bear witness accurately and compassionately. For Brad Ingelsby, the question of whether it was too soon — or not soon enough — to tell the story of a community besieged by the electrically-sparked wildfire was paramount from the project’s inception.

“There was a question of whether this a story should come out in the wake of the [2025] L.A. fires,’” Ingelsby recalls. “But I think Apple, Jason Blum, [who produced[, and Paul Greengrass [who also directed]… felt that it was a timeless story of heroism. The answer, for me, is that it’s not soon enough.”

Brad Ingelsby. Photo by Landon McMahon

“I lived in California for sixteen years, and now I’m back in Pennsylvania, where I grew up. One of the characters says, ‘It’s [the wildfire threat] only getting worse and we’re fools if we don’t know that.’ And that’s something I witnessed firsthand. A fire came within half a mile of my house, and we had to evacuate for three days. It was like the apocalypse,” the screenwriter recalls.

The screenplay for The Lost Bus predated the infamous L.A. wildfires, but its clarion call for disaster preparedness couldn’t have been more timely.

“That was one of the things the film talks about: they weren’t ready, but how could you ever be ready given those conditions? It was a perfect storm of events that led to this awful tragedy.” Ingelsby states.

The Lost Bus was never solely about a natural disaster. For Ingelsby, the real story lay in the resilience and resourcefulness of ordinary people living their everyday lives. “What initially attracted me to the story was, a theme that I like to explore a lot — everyday characters and the quiet heroism in that. I loved meeting Kevin and Mary and getting to know them, just sitting with them for days and talking about what happened. I really fell in love with them as people. I felt honored that they gave me the chance to tell the story.”

Quiet Heroism: Centering Character Over Catastrophe

In the wrong hands, a film about wildfire evacuation could easily become an exploitative, blockbuster spectacle, dominated by explosive set pieces and melodramatic action-packed heroics. Ingelsby and director Paul Greengrass, however, were intent on something more subtle, truthful and resonant – devoid of caped crusader heroics.

“I also think that’s something that I give credit to Paul for. He’s such a wonderful director — so acutely aware and constantly mindful. It matters to him to do right by the real people, to tell the story in a way that honors the town and the characters,” Ingelsby reflects.

He describes the creative ethos that guided the project: “It’s always a fine line between wanting to tell a story that is entertaining and thrilling, but not one that exploits the people at the heart of the story. While writing it, I focused on grounding it. It never becomes a popcorn movie. It’s a very character-driven account of a day in the life of this town and these people.”

That commitment to realism, Ingelsby notes, is a hallmark of Greengrass’s career. “Especially United 93 — just trying to be as honest with the storytelling as possible. That’s something that he led with from day one: embracing the real people, the real town.”

Ingelsby finds the story’s power in its emotional restraint. There isn’t any exaggerated crying or screaming. The fear was chilling and tempered because the residents were so stunned by the magnitude of the fires. We even sneaked in a few laughs with Mary. “That’s what real heroism looks like — people who, in the midst of the worst, can still find a moment of humanity.”

Paul Greengrass. Photo courtesy of Apple Original Films

The Genre Equation: A Ride Between Drama and Documentary

The Lost Bus is not a conventional disaster film. The screenplay draws on true crime, documentary, and action drama formats, but always circles back to character. For Ingelsby, the genre question was central to the film’s success.

“It’s something Paul and I talked about a lot,” he explains. “I had written a draft of the script, and he said to me, ‘We have to keep the bus moving.’ Because in reality, there were long stretches where Kevin and Mary were stuck in traffic like everybody else trying to get out of town.” That couldn’t sustain the story on screen.

This deceptively simple note unlocked the film’s narrative potential and visual drive. “It was a genius way of pushing the story momentum along,” Ingelsby acknowledges. “That idea really unlocked the ride of the movie. The audience is constantly asking, ‘Are they going to get out? Is this another impasse?’ It creates a constant ache and momentum, even as we’re exploring the increasing emotional and psychological toll on the characters.”

The balance between action and contemplation is delicate, but essential. “It’s the balance between the reflective and the action.” Inglesby says. The Lost Bus isn’t speed In a town on fire. It’s a gentle meditation on trauma.

The Individual and the Community: The Anatomy of Duty

One of the screenplay’s most compelling aspects is its nuanced portrayal of duty — not just to family and colleagues, but to community. Ingelsby was drawn to the story not just for its dramatic stakes, but for what it reveals about belonging.

“When I talked to Kevin [McKay], he spoke about himself and his father, him and his son. What really helped Kevin on that day was that he had lived there for so long. When he saw the fire, the smoke, he knew it was different. He’d lived through enough fires,” Ingelsby says.

The decision to act, he emphasizes, is rooted in personal connection to Paradise. “It would be different if he was a bus driver who hadn’t grown up here, who had no connection with the community. But Kevin had a sense of duty to the people he knew, to the people he saw in the grocery store. When the call comes in — ‘Does anybody have an empty bus?’ — Kevin waits and waits until he finally picks up the microphone and says, ‘I’ll go get the kids.’ That sense of duty, that’s what really resonated with me.”

This sense of rootedness, Ingelsby believes, is essential to authentic storytelling. “Where I live now in Pennsylvania, it’s very much home. I wake up every day and feel like I’m where I’m supposed to be. I feel that with Kevin and Mary — they’re where they’re supposed to be. When things happen to the community where you feel at home, the decision to help out just feels natural. It’s a sense of duty rather than a sense of obligation.” 

Crafting the Most Poignant Scenes: Intimacy Amidst Chaos

For a film set against the chaotic backdrop of wildfires, The Lost Bus is notable for its quiet, tender, intimate moments. Ingelsby’s favorite scenes are not the ones filled with fiery spectacle, but those filled with vulnerability as Kevin and Mary bond.

“I think about the ending, with Matthew going to the house his father built by hand. That was a really moving detail,” Ingelsby shares. “But I also think about the scenes where Kevin and Mary are in the bus, the fire getting closer, and they’re revealing little details of their lives to each other. They just met a couple hours ago, but now, with the danger so close, they’re talking about their dreams and regrets—what they never got to do. Those moments, in the quiet, with the fire creeping up and the kids succumbing to smoke, are what always resonated with me.”

Then there’s the climactic escape. “The final drive out of the fire is a thrilling sequence,” Ingelsby notes. “But for me, those intimate, quiet moments inside the bus are the heart of the film.”

The film’s conclusion — a wordless reconnection between father and son — speaks volumes. Despite all the animosity, the teenage angst, the son understands that his dad’s doing the best he can with what tools and he has. “It’s a great ending because it’s honest. It’s not about easy forgiveness, but about understanding,” Ingelsby reflects.

Authenticity and Responsibility in Adapting True Stories

Adapting a true story comes with unique ethical obligations. Ingelsby and Greengrass approached the material with humility and a deep sense of stewardship and respect for the town and what it endured.

This ethos shaped every creative decision. “It’s about honoring the people who lived through this, not using their pain for spectacle. That’s why we focused so much on the small moments, the real conversations, and the insights that only come from listening.”

Conclusion

Ultimately, Ingelsby hopes that The Lost Bus inspires screenwriters to consider not just how stories are told, but why. “True heroism is quiet. It’s in the everyday decisions, the sense of duty to community. If you can capture that, you’re honoring your characters — and your audience.”

[More: Brad Ingelsby on ‘Mare of Easttown’]

by Staff Writer

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