♚ klaus goravich (done) ♚

Synopsis: 

After the arena, after the death and the blood - after all of it, what is left? What do we really know about the Victors who return to their districts, forever changed as people by the weight of victory? How does it feel to grow old while carrying this inexplicable burden? What is left, once all of that is taken away?

This is precisely what film-maker Klaus Goravich seeks to show Panem in his groundbreaking feature-length documentary, filmed throughout his fiftieth year, where, for the first time, he turns the camera inward, allowing never before seen footage of his family, his home, and his life. 

 

Source 1: Original photographs of Klaus Goravich at seventeen, taken before boarding the train to the Capitol to attend the 61st annual Hunger Games. 






I.  

"My name is Klaus, and today I am filming a movie about my life." 

This is not the voice we have come to know, the even voice of a man grown old. The screen lights up again: the boy from the Games, but younger, eyes clear. He smiles shyly, readjusts the camera. This is archival footage: never before seen, but undoubtedly authentic. 

"Welcome," he says, "to the horror that is my life."¹

His tone is calm, even cheerful. He is unaware of the way in which those words would come to life over the next year. It is painful to watch, in retrospect. 





1. See source material: Klaus Goravich self-tapes, filmed sometime around the 60th Hunger Games. Exact date unknown. 

Source 2: A still of Klaus Goravich leaving a pre-Games celebration in the lead up to the 95th Hunger Games. This shot was taken at 9.37pm. The festivities were believed to carry on late into the night, with some Victors and Capitolites pictured leaving early the following morning. Klaus left alone and returned to his room in the training centre, sources report. 

III.

We watch Klaus walk along a pathway through a garden. The flower beds are in full bloom. His back is turned to the camera, but his voice is clear. 

"I raised my children here, in the Victor village. I tried to keep a low profile, for them. I don't think it's good for children to grow up in the spotlight."

His voice continues over the following shots, snippets of home video:

• A baby swaddled in a blanket, an unsteady camera turning up to see young Klaus' beaming face looking down on the tiny thing 
• Two toddles in dresses playing together in a garden; they skip and sing
• A family dinner: several figures seated around a table. A zoom to Daisy, giddy, at the head of the table. A turn to a doorway, at first empty, and then Klaus appears, holding a cake in his hands. It is home-baked, the icing messy, nine candles. Everyone is singing, but the audio is silent in favour of the voiceover. 
• The girls, older now, perhaps eleven and thirteen, reading books in the sunshine. When they realise the camera is on them, they laugh and turn away. 
• Klaus walking Daisy down the aisle, Penelope scattering petals in their wake. 
• A dimly lit hospital room, Klaus receiving Daisy's brand new baby into his arms. 

"They have been my entire world. Without them I really don't know how I could have gone on, after everything that happened. It sounds cliché, but they gave me purpose. They needed me. When all I could think about was the terrible things I had done, the people I let down, there they were, wanting to hold my hand, wanting me to keep them safe. So I did everything I could to protect them. They're all grown up now." 

Klaus reaches the end of the garden path and turns around. Smiles at the camera. 

"I think a lot of people think my work is my legacy, and I really am proud of what I've made. But I could never work on a project that makes me as proud as they do."

He has reached the house. It is a building typical of the kind of house found in a Victor's village; great, sweeping porch, two floors, ornate doorknocker (this one is the shape of an owl). The front door is painted green.

"I'd always dreamed of having a big family, lots of children. My own family growing up -- there were six of us kids in the house. Always someone to play with, always someone to argue with. I'd imagined having the same. But Daisy and Penelope came to me when I was really just a boy myself. They were exactly what I needed. We grew up together, we learned together, we looked after each other, in a way." 

The viewer gets the sense that this is all they will see of the Goravich children. He has held them close to his chest for the past three decades, and even this short segment seems generous, carefully curated, a small gift for the curious spectator. 

IV.

"I've always been good at telling stories." 

"My father used to say I had a unique perspective on things. Saw things other people didn't. I don't know if that's true, but I always felt that there were things I wanted to say that I couldn't capture in just words. It was an obvious choice, to start filming."

He sips a cup of coffee. He is seated at a kitchen table. The light is warm, it streams in through the window. The viewer can assume that we are now inside his home. 

"When someone else turns a camera on you, you lose some power over your own story. I've never watched back my Games. I'm sure I wouldn't like who I'd see." 

He clasps his hands together. 

"I've always thought there were bigger stories to tell than my own. Panem is a place filled with impossibilities. Great disparities. So many people, every one of them incredibly, incredibly important. I wanted to share that. So that's what I did." 

The camera falls to the table, where film copies of each of his works lay. There are five of them, each of them likely familiar to the viewer.

There is footage, then, of Klaus working behind the camera. Clips of him talking to his subjects, his voice always kind, always careful. His questions thought provoking, just soft enough to avoid intrusiveness. He directs and redirects. It appears natural, there is none of the hesitation that is seen when he speaks directly to the camera. He is comfortable here, clearly good at what he does.

We see an image of the boy who became, for many, the poster-child of the Rose Plague; a tiny thing, flushed cheeks, otherwise pallid. Entangled with his sister, sharing one bed, rough blankets draped around the two sick youngsters. Everyone who has seen Roses knows how the story ends. 

"I think it's important to tell the truth. But there's a point where you worry it's exploitative. People need to know what is happening, and yet there is something so desperately vile about filming people's suffering. It's a delicate line to walk."

Klaus swallows. Perhaps there are the faintest glints of tears in his arms. He speaks slowly. 

"I can give people money. And I do, I do my best to help. But money is nothing, it's a drop in a bucket of problems so deep you'll never reach the bottom. What's money when your child is dying? It's worthless." 

V.

"What gave you the idea to buy the house?" The speaker is not visible on screen. Just a questioning voice. It is not clear who is behind the camera here. 

The setting has shifted. We are now standing on a gravel pathway. Klaus is in the middle of the scene, dressed casually, a linen shirt over a white t-shirt. His sleeves are rolled up. On either side, the grass grows long and threatens to swallow the path. Behind him - perhaps fifty feet or so, there is the shape of a large house, standing out against the blue sky. It has a lot of windows. 

"It was a conversation with Atticus¹ - on the train ride home from the 95th.²"

If, at this point, you were to zoom in on the house behind him, you would see that the house, although imposing, is evidently abandoned; the paint is peeling, bedraggled weeds grow through the cracks on the front porch; several of the windows are broken, several others boarded up. There is some graffiti across one wall; a mysterious dark patch across another. 

"I'd been thinking about District Three for a while. We were hit badly by the Rose Plague. Even before that, the district was struggling. I'd had this growing feeling that I needed to do something to help for a long time - I just couldn't figure out what. Atticus helped me realise there was something I could do." 

Klaus gestures to the house behind him. 

"This house has been empty for a long, long time. I used to walk past it most days. It used to be used for a lot of things; a temporary hospital during the Dark Days, a Peacekeeper barracks. But it fell into disrepair long ago." 

It is clear that restoration of the house will be a significant endeavour. 

"To me, the most important thing in my life has always been my family. Having a loving home. Food on the table. People looking out for you. I had that, growing up. I was very lucky. I gave that to my children. I realised that there were countless children out there who didn't have that. I want to give that to them." 

The footage begins, then, of the renovation process. Klaus is hands-on. There are clips of him painting, drilling, plastering and digging. There are others there, too, many faces, ever-changing, moving in and out of each shot. The montage gives the sense that the District is coming together to create something. They are dirty, sweaty, smiling. They work rain, hail or shine. They work together. 

Klaus grins up at the camera, pushing a wheelbarrow full of debris. 

Klaus' brother, Jamarion, strips old wallpaper from a wall. 

A female figure, who's face never turns to the camera, laughs heartily, using her hands to tell a story to several children, who play under the shade of the front porch while adults scrub the walls behind them. 

Klaus plants seeds in a flower bed. 

Klaus' sister, Lyana, holds planks of wood, while her daughter, Lena, holds the opposite end. 

Atticus and Klaus sit in the middle of a room, half of which has had the floorboards ripped out, both looking exhausted, drinking cups of tea. 

"How long did it take?" 

Klaus's laugh is unmistakable. "Longer than I expected. It was a lot of work. There were several setbacks." There is a smile in his voice. "But we got there. I really couldn't have done it without everybody. It's really been a work of love, not just from me but from everybody. A love letter to District Three, you could say." 

"And did it turn out how you wanted it?" 


"Oh, it's even better." 

---

1. Here he makes reference to Atticus Manor, fellow District Three Victor
2. There is no record of this conversation, nor has it been referenced elsewhere by either Klaus or Atticus 

VI

The ribbon is cut. Half of the District is in attendance. Klaus' smile is huge. 

We see snippets of the tour. Atticus shows a small cluster of District Officials the sunroom, the library, the swimming pool. 

People sit around on the porch eating scones and teacakes, drinking lemonade. The sun shines brightly, as though it knows that today is a happy day. 

Klaus takes a moment to speak to the camera. The house is framed behind him. 

"I'm so proud of what we've done here. A place to give these children that can really, truly be home. Somewhere they can be happy to be." He looks at the house as though he is drinking it in. The viewer can almost see the children playing in his mind's eye; the house becoming a home, laughter, playing. Again, there is a tear in the man's eye. 

"When do they start moving in?" 

"Tomorrow. As soon as we put the word out that there were places here - funded places, mind you - the letters started pouring in. Unfortunately we actually won't have enough space to house every child that needs a home here in District Three. But we've tried to prioritise. Take those that need it most. And then do what we can for the others. But we need to start small, work from the ground up."

"Will you be living here, too?" 

Klaus nods. "I'll leave my home in the Victor Village. I never much liked it there anyway. It's been a bit of a ghost-town." The joke hangs in the air; a reference to the ghosts of the fallen tributes, the could-have-been neighbours that never came home. He swallows and concedes: "I raised my children there. It'll always be a special place for me."

"And Atticus?" 

He shakes his head at this. "Atticus has been a generous sponsor of the project. He's done a lot of work. But he still has a young family at home. He'll be part of it, but I'll be the one getting my hands dirty, so to speak." 

"All by yourself?" 

"My niece, Lena, and my daughter Penelope have offered to take on a position here. They'll help me out with the children. Both of them are amazing." 

A voice calls for Klaus from somewhere off-screen. The party is still going on without us. 

"I'm sorry, I'd better get back to things. We've still got so much to do before tomorrow." 

The camera follows him as he walks away. We are left with the background noises of happy voices, and, closer, the squawking of a bird in a nearby tree.