Gay Cowboys or Charging Hippos?

It’s becoming increasingly difficult to watch any of the movies spat out by Hollywood lately.  Not because of the typical gratuitous stuff that makes most knee-jerkers kvetch, but because of the heavy gravy, not-so-savvy, liberal propaganda dolled out by Hollywood’s little darlings.  I can’t sit through a show any more without feeling like I’m going through Mega Krappa Lefta’s pledge week.  Jan Crouch’s wig is more subtle than Hollywood’s political bent. 

Turning away from the theater to the TV doesn’t afford me much solace, either.  Why?  Well, one reason is the omnipresent Ryan Seacrest.  This dude is on every channel.  Why is he there?  It’s beyond me.  It appears that his only claim to fame is that he is famous.  He has got to be the most easily replaceable guy on TV.  The only qualification the next stooge needs to take his place is a willingness to endure more waxing than Kelly Slater’s short board.  In fact, I believe President Bush just declared war on Ryan this last Thursday citing that his hair is a “weapon of mousse destruction.”

But . . . being the simpleton that I am, I need some kind of visual break.  Having watched The Lion King, The Passion, Braveheart, Anchorman, and Napoleon Dynamite more than Earl Warren stared at the Zapruder film, I need some fresh meat . . . some new ocular stimuli to feed my soul.  Just as I began to get really agitated at the severe cinematic lack, the UPS lady came to my rescue by delivering to my house Mark Sullivan’s latest movie, Death Rush. 

For those not familiar with Sullivan or his movies, let me introduce you:  Mark is a Professional Hunter and a filmmaker who owns and operates Nitro Express Safaris.  He specializes in hunting Africa’s most dangerous game—up close and in your face.  His company sent our outfit a review copy of his latest flick for our examination and, all I can say is, “You better buckle up!”  As a hunting movie, this DVD delivers the goods!  This is reality programming at its finest.  I’m talkin’ real reality.

In Mark’s “reality show”, the hunters do not test their mettle by eating spiders or swimming with nurse sharks, but rather by confronting cape buffalo and rogue bull hippo—out of the water, on dry ground, at full charge and with antiquated British double rifles.  These are not old, hand raised, carnival critters shot in a pen from a safe distance, but very wild, legally hunted and venerated beasts . . . any one of which could have killed Mark on the spot.  One hippo charge in particular should have turned Mark into a grease stain on East Africa’s plains.  In Mark’s movie Death Rush, there is no room for mistakes or second takes. 

I know not everyone is into hunting; however, for those that are—and for those who like to see people being challenged, who like to see how people perform under pressure, who like to see people sweat through their clothing as they stare certain death in the eye—this is your film! 

Hands down, Death Rush is Sullivan’s finest hunting movie ever made featuring the absolute best life and death, kill or be killed footage of his career.  Granted, it doesn’t have any gay cowboys or a woman portraying a man who wants to be a woman or any overly tweaked metrosexual models, but it is still good.  And if you’re a hunter, and you like that which is primal, wild and free, go to, melt your plastic, and then brace yourself for an-edge-of-your-seat adrenaline rush like you have never seen before.

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