Do you remember Rachael Gunn. If you don’t, where were you?
Netflix’s "UNTOLD" documentary, "Raygun: Breaking Badly", revisits the Australian break dancer whose Olympic performance turned her into one of the biggest memes of the 2024 Paris Games. And, oh boy, what a sight.
In November 2023, Gunn won the WDSF Oceania Breaking Championship, securing her place at the Paris Olympics.
Sixteen women competed, arriving with years of training and, presumably, a solid idea of what they were doing.
Then came Gunn, who appeared to have wandered into the wrong competition and decided to give it a go anyway.
Watching her was a little like jumping into a swimming pool without knowing how to swim, but carrying on because, you are already in the water.
Gunn lost all three round-robin battles, receiving zero points. Her kangaroo hop, the sprinkler and unconventional moves were clipped, reposted and dissected until Gunn was no longer simply an Olympic competitor. She was Raygun, the meme.
Two years later, "Raygun: Breaking Badly" goes behind those viral minutes to examine what happened before, during and after Paris.
So how did Raygun get there?
The documentary is less interested in replaying the clips than answering how Gunn ended up on that Olympic stage.
She did not appear out of nowhere.
The film traces her introduction to breaking, her academic interest in the culture and progression as a competitive breaker. She developed an individual style.
In 2023, she won the Oceania championship that earned her an Olympic place. So no, she did not sneak into Paris.
Gunn took breaking seriously. Her approach was rooted in originality rather than reproducing her competitors’ most technically demanding moves. She believed her strength was developing something recognisably her own.
Lovely. Except this was the Olympics.
Being different is not quite enough alongside some of the best breakers in the world. Originality still has to work within the demands of competition.
That was my problem then and it remains my problem after watching the documentary.
Nobody told Raygun she couldn’t dance. They perhaps forgot to tell her that the Olympics is not the place to find out whether your interpretation of breaking can hold up against the world’s best.
Who was telling her the truth?
One revealing part is Gunn’s relationship with her husband and coach, Samuel Free.
Free describes her Olympic routine as her best performance ever. And I suppose when you are husband and wife, coach and athlete, it is easy to get lost in the sauce.
Because this is where I started asking: who was telling Gunn she was ready for this?
It reminded me of taking one of our guys who has just won an LA Boxing Fight Night and putting him in the ring with Mike Tyson in his prime, then acting genuinely surprised when he gets knocked out in the first round.
At some point, surely somebody has to ask: are we sure about this?
That does not mean Free deliberately misled her. The documentary presents genuine belief in Gunn. But belief can only take you so far in elite competition.
Gunn lost all three battles and questions followed: was she good enough? Did she deserve to be there? Had the people around her been honest?
The documentary does not completely answer those questions. What it does do is make the person behind the meme harder to dismiss.
Her side of the story
Gunn gets the chance to explain herself and her story is more complicated than simply saying she turned up at the Olympics thinking she was Beyoncé.
She believed she had earned her place. She had been breaking for years, had trained, competed and won the Oceania championship in 2023. Paris was not some elaborate joke to her.
What makes her story more interesting is how convinced she was that she was doing what she was supposed to be doing.
She knew she was not the most technically gifted breaker in the field, so she leaned into originality, character and movements that felt distinctly her own. To Gunn, the kangaroo, sprinkler and swimming-inspired moves were a considered strategy rather than a joke.
It is a strange disconnect, but not an entirely unfamiliar one. Think of those "Idols" wooden-mic auditions where someone walks into a singing competition convinced they can sing, only for the audience at home to hear something very different.
If people have allowed you through the audition, competition or qualifying process, it is not unreasonable to believe you belong there.
Gunn had worried about being laughed at before Paris. She had spoken to her therapist about that fear, only to watch it become reality globally.
That made the person behind the clips harder to dismiss.
Being told your performance was terrible is one thing. Becoming a punchline and having strangers dissect your character is another.
Some of the backlash went far beyond criticism, with false claims about how she had qualified adding to the pile-on. Those claims were subsequently debunked. She had earned her Olympic place through the official qualification process.
That does not mean the performance cannot be questioned.
Gunn's qualification was legitimate. Whether she was good enough for the Olympic stage is a separate conversation. The documentary makes her confidence understandable without necessarily making the performance convincing.
"Raygun: Breaking Badly" is most interesting when it shows the years behind those minutes and reminds us that someone can be serious, committed and completely convinced they are doing their best while still falling short when the standard becomes Olympic.
The internet wanted a joke. The documentary wants us to see the person. I’m still not sure I needed the sprinkler again.
★★★ (3/5): Bernelee says the documentary gives Raygun a voice, adds context to the meme and makes her easier to understand. It just doesn’t make those Olympic moves any less bewildering.