In the opening moments of Netflix’s latest documentary, “Untold Raygun: Breaking Badly,” Australian B-girl Rachael Gunn shares a poignant moment with her sports psychologist before the 2024 Paris Olympics.
“Before the Olympics, I had a panic session with my therapist,” Gunn recalls. When asked about her worst fears, she responded, “The entire world could mock me.” The therapist countered with, “Is that a reasonable concern?” This prompted Gunn to burst into laughter.
This humorous exchange is relatable for anyone familiar with therapy, as therapists often reassure clients that their worst fears rarely materialize. However, in Gunn’s case, what she dreaded most came true. Her quirky antics, including the sprinkler dance and kangaroo hops, rapidly gained viral attention following her performance. If she had been more explicit about her planned moves, perhaps her therapist’s response would have differed. Gunn’s routine sparked countless memes, late-night television features, conspiracy theories, and even a musical at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival.
“She became the most recognized breaker in the world overnight,” remarks Flix, a fellow Australian B-girl, within the documentary. Remarkably, this fame was achieved without earning a single vote from the nine judges during her six rounds of competition.
“Untold Raygun,” set to debut globally on Netflix on Tuesday, primarily focuses on Gunn’s individual journey rather than addressing the broader implications for breaking—a cultural expression rooted in Black and Brown communities from the South Bronx. The documentary is largely centered on Gunn’s experiences, with limited exploration of the historical significance of breaking as it enters the Olympic arena. It features conversations with Gunn, her family, her husband who introduced her to breaking, and various dancers from the Australian scene. Through these interviews, we learn about Gunn’s path from academia to the Olympic stage, highlighting her relationship with a B-boy employed at a call center.
Gunn’s portrayal in the documentary is endearing; she appears mostly self-aware and humorous. Her parents come across as delightful, sharing laughter at the thought of their unconventional daughter being labeled an “Olympian.” Her husband, Sammy Free, seems genuinely affectionate and supportive. (It’s heartwarming to witness such a profound connection.) However, the most insightful perspectives come from two Australian B-girls who provide critical commentary on female representation in the breaking community and Gunn’s Olympic performance. Their critiques are candid yet balanced.
Tinylocks, one of Gunn’s peers, frequently references the phrase “No easy props,” which reflects a hip-hop ethos emphasizing the necessity to demonstrate skill to gain respect. This phrase is linked to American B-girl Asia One, who established a crew called No Easy Props in 1997. Tinylocks explains, “Breaking has been a male-dominated space, and B-girls have had to fight for visibility. As more women entered the scene, it felt like some were receiving accolades prematurely, simply for participating.”
Against the backdrop of “no easy props,” Tinylocks evaluates Gunn’s pre-Olympic performances, recalling one or two moments that impressed her, while questioning others. She ultimately chose not to pursue the Oceania qualifying spot, stating, “My passion lies in breaking as an art form,” a sentiment echoed by others in the community following the IOC and World DanceSport Federation’s announcement about the Olympic inclusion. Flix attempted to qualify but approached the competition at 41 with tempered expectations. Gunn was surprised by her progress through the brackets, reaching the finals against B-girl Molly. However, her final performance at the Oceania qualifier lacked the standout moves that defined her Olympic appearance. The routine was unremarkable, characterized by slower movements and a lack of complexity. Had she executed that same routine in Paris, she likely wouldn’t have advanced past the preliminaries, nor would she have gained her global notoriety.
The documentary highlights Gunn’s evolution in choreography; she recognized her need to elevate her skills to compete with top B-girls at the Olympics. In the months leading up to the Games, she participated in several European battles but struggled to perform well. This prompted her and her husband to rethink their strategy. Instead of focusing on difficult power moves—acrobatic maneuvers often associated with breaking—they decided to lean into originality, one of the five judging categories at the Olympics, alongside technique, vocabulary, execution, and musicality. Their goal shifted from winning battles to simply earning a single vote from a judge. They drew inspiration from Australian wildlife, including kangaroos, and incorporated playful elements like the sprinkler dance and nods to swimming, a sport in which Australia excels. Despite these creative efforts, Gunn received no votes during her Olympic performance.
