Breaking: The Musical most definitely does not revolve around Olympic breaker Rachael ‘Raygun’ Gunn, insists the show’s creator.
It revolves around aspirations, personal belief, societal criticism, mockery, Olympic breakdancing, combating reputational issues through legal means… yet, once more, it decidedly isn’t about Raygun.
It’s really about a 36-year-old Olympic rapper known as ‘Spraygun,’ the stage name for university professor Sprachel Gunn.
As the introductory graphics indicate, any similarity to other public figures is purely coincidental.
Comedian Steph Broadbridge, known for his role as Spraygun, originally penned a comparable production titled “Raygun: The Musical.” This earlier work was scheduled to premiere at a modest theater in Sydney back in December of last year.
Broadbridge decided to pull the plug on that mere days before the opening night following receipt of letters from Rachael Gunn’s legal team.
stating that her name and distinctive kangaroo dance routine were safeguarded under intellectual property laws.
The scandal propelled the show into the limelight, with the comic incorporating the legal battle into her act, performing to packed houses at the Sydney Comedy Festival, Melbourne Comedy Festival, and Adelaide Fringe.
Following completion of filming in Sydney over the weekend, the production will embark on a regional tour with plans potentially heading to the Edinburgh Fringe as well, according to Broadbridge.
The vampire attorney from the musical alongside the exotic dancer
The series begins in Hornsby Shire, located in Sydney’s northern suburbs, which is where Rachael Gunn spent her formative years. Coincidentally, this is also the place where upper-middle-class Sprachel aspires to lead a life outside of her white-picket-fence existence.
She encounters a breakdancer at the nearby Police Citizens Youth Club, and he persuades her that breaking isn’t solely for the urban minority groups where it originated; instead, he believes it’s destined to be her passion.
As her affection for the genre deepens, so too does their relationship blossom.
“I might be a B-girl, but I’ll always be an A-girl to him,” Sprachel sings.
A strained muscle sidelines her boyfriend from competing in the Olympics, so he channels all his energy into supporting her athletic achievements instead.
A vampire attorney hovers just out of sight, stepping into view every time a character tries the notorious kangaroo maneuver, which is claimed to belong exclusively to Gunn.
Legal battle fuels show’s triumph
The script and songs are rich with witty humor, covering more than just she-who-shall-go-unmentioned, but also delving into Australian society as a whole.
The light-hearted mood is shattered by a ballad as Spraygun encounters global criticism following her Olympic disappointment, indicating that Broadbridge isn’t just targeting her supposed subject, but also highlighting the extent of public hostility towards her.
The cast is unserious and unpolished, and the Microsoft Paint-style graphics remind you that the production isn’t trying to be anything it’s not.
However, this should not be mistaken for amateurishness—the show transcends simplistic jokes about a familiar public story and boasts an unexpectedly rich level of complexity and clever humor.
By the conclusion of the performance, viewers are encouraged to rise and participate in the Spraygun dance.
Scanning the room, it’s evident that although we all found Gunn’s Olympic bid amusing, not one of us would stand a chance at winning any medals, let alone gold.
Gunn emerged as the standout personality of Paris 2024 when public outrage inadvertently boosted his fame.
Now she’s gifted that same ironic logic to Broadbridge’s show, with her own criticism of the musical elevating the project to a whole new level, proving once again that giving air to a PR crisis can turn an ember into a bonfire.
