Rhythmic gymnast Margarita Mamun in Over the Limit (Film Movement)

“Find your inner harmony. Touch up your eyebrows,” barks Amina Zaripova at her charge, 20-year-old rhythmic gymnast Margarita Mamun.

This and other perplexing commands abound in Marta Prus’s courageous documentary Over the Limit, which details the Russian women’s gymnastics team’s journey as they prepare for the 2016 Olympics.

The interactions between young Mamun and her coaches Zaripova and Irina Viner are brutal—and completely unscripted. Filmmaker Prus was able to obtain security clearance, which allowed her to capture actual training sessions and competitions. “What a stupid loser,” Viner says coldly to Mamun in one scene, and later, “Go f*** yourself and your goddamn gentleness.”

In part, what makes these types of remarks so troubling is that they are peppered with the comfort of physical embraces, even kisses, and flattering phrases like, “Brave girl,” and even, “I love you very much,” so that viewers watch the emotional ravaging of a young woman’s mind as she bounces back and forth from despair to hope, from reinforcement to abandonment. Many of Viner’s attacks are met with silence from Mamun.

This piece has been compared to Black Swan for its “excellence at any cost” theme. But perhaps because the mental manipulations are being carried out in real time on a young woman, it may be more akin to Shelley Duvall’s emotional torture at the hands of Stanley Kubrick during the shooting of The Shining.

It seems illogical that Viner would sanction such a portrayal of herself. The film captures her frequently engaging in textbook emotional and psychological abuse tactics. Allegedly, when Viner learned what footage would be used in the film, she initially objected, accusing Prus of “starting a scandal.” Apparently once Viner watched the film all the way through, she became very excited by it and urged the production team to enter it in festivals.

Viner, whose full name is Irina Alexandrovna Viner-Usmanova, is head coach of the Russian national team and president of the Russian Rhythmic Gymnastics Federation. She is married to Alisher Usmanov, one of Russia’s wealthiest magnates. A quick Google search pulls up a photograph of Irina holding a bouquet of roses and posing with Vladimir Putin. Even in her 70s, her hair is dyed completely black.

All of cinematographer Adam Suzin’s camera work is hand-held, ensuring a very tense tone. Viewers feel like voyeurs. He does not shy away from the gritty fluorescents so typical of gymnasium practice rooms, nor does he cheat away during moments of intense discomfort.

Throughout Mamun exhibits the grace and strength we’ve come to expect of a well-trained Olympic gymnast. She is a natural in front of the camera, simply allowing it in her space while she goes about her life. Some of the more intimate moments involve Mamun at her parents’ home, replete with her trophies and medals, or alone in a hotel room. The filmmakers capture her performing mundane tasks, such as ironing out the satin ribbon used in her floor exercise, deflating her pearlescent ball, or simply puzzling over the best way to pack her gear for transport. These private instances undermine any mystical notions viewers might have about the glamour of Olympic rhythmic gymnastics.

The compelling film keeps the viewer wondering at which point Mamun will break under the pressure, and it builds to a pitch, raising existential questions about what we do to one another and why. Here, it’s all in the pursuit of total perfection.