Coreyography: A Memoir
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
"Spares no details." ―Starred Publishers Weekly Review
"An incredible read." ―Richard Donner, Director
"People always ask me about life after childhood stardom. What would I say to parents of children in the industry? My only advice, honestly, is to get these kids out of Hollywood and let them lead normal lives." ―Corey Feldman
A deeply personal and revealing Hollywood-survival story.
Lovable child star by age ten, international teen idol by fifteen, and to this day a perennial pop-culture staple, Corey Feldman has not only spent the entirety of his life in the spotlight, he's become just as famous for his off-screen exploits as for his roles in such classic films as Gremlins, The Goonies, and Stand by Me. He's been linked to a slew of Hollywood starlets (including Drew Barrymore, Vanessa Marcil, and adult entertainer Ginger Lynn), shared a highly publicized friendship with Michael Jackson, and with his frequent costar Corey Haim enjoyed immeasurable success as one half of the wildly popular duo "The Two Coreys," spawning seven films, a 1-900 number, and "Coreymania" in the process. What child of the eighties didn't have a Corey Feldman poster hanging in her bedroom, or a pile of Tiger Beats stashed in his closet?
Now, in this brave and moving memoir, Corey is revealing the truth about what his life was like behind the scenes: His is a past that included physical, drug, and sexual abuse, a dysfunctional family from which he was emancipated at age fifteen, three high-profile arrests for drug possession, a nine-month stint in rehab, and a long, slow crawl back to the top of the box office.
While Corey has managed to overcome the traps that ensnared so many other entertainers of his generation―he's still acting, is a touring musician, and is a proud father to his son, Zen―many of those closest to him haven't been so lucky. In the span of one year, he mourned the passing of seven friends and family members, including Corey Haim and Michael Jackson. In the wake of those tragedies, he's spoken publicly about the dark side of fame, lobbied for legislation affording greater protections for children in the entertainment industry, and lifted the lid off of what he calls Hollywood's biggest secret.
Coreyography is his surprising account of survival and redemption.
of magazines. Fans had not yet started to stalk us, but that would come soon enough. My father had taken over as my manager, and was practically drowning in publicity requests, for personal appearances, photo shoots, interviews. Suddenly, I was invited everywhere, L.A. opened itself to me like a flower. The Comedy Awards—where someone snapped a photo of Shari Belafonte and me, wearing Groucho Marx–style fake glasses, with the mustache and the oversized nose; it ran in practically every
appreciate it if you could help us out,” Michael said. He was kind and casual, not at all egotistical or demanding, as one might have expected from someone so famous. “I’m sorry, sir. We’re completely booked.” Michael looked over at me and sighed. “I didn’t want to have to do this.” Then he reached for his wallet and pulled out a California driver’s license and an American Express card printed with the words “Disneyland” and “Michael Jackson” in giant gold letters. He set them both on the desk.
earlier, we had presented one to our matchmaker of sorts, Steven Spielberg, at the Directors Guild.) It’s my job to meet the limo and pick her up at the hotel. We’re only a little ways down the road, but with the miles-long caravan of limos (this is, after all, years before towncars became the preferred mode of chauffeured transportation), it will take over an hour to drive roughly five hundred feet. Finally, after what feels like a year, I take her hand and help her climb out of the car. I’ve
the wind out of me. I remembered, vaguely, laughing about how our friends would be shocked, but I didn’t think the entire marriage was a joke. I had meant it when I told her I loved her. “We’ll keep dating and everything,” she continues, “but I’m not going to move in with you. We have to be practical. We’ve only known each other a few months.” I thought it was a little late to be thinking practically. “What are you saying?” “I’m saying, if you’re going to take this whole thing so seriously,
room again, the door barely cracked ajar. “Yes?” I retrace my steps down the hallway until I’m standing outside her door. She’s lying on her bed, half-dressed, watching a haze of gray static glowing from the television. “Did you eat the cookies in the cabinet?” I feel a knot forming in the pit of my stomach. “No,” I say, in a voice no bigger than a whisper. “No? Why are there crumbs in your bed?” “I don’t know.” “Well, perhaps you’d like to explain. Did the dog eat the cookies, Corey? Did