BN.com Gift Guide

Coreyography: A Memoir

( 37 )

Overview

"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, ...

See more details below
Paperback (Reprint)
$13.08
BN.com price
(Save 18%)$15.99 List Price

Pick Up In Store

Reserve and pick up in 60 minutes at your local store

Other sellers (Paperback)
  • All (10) from $8.78   
  • New (8) from $8.78   
  • Used (2) from $8.93   
Coreyography: A Memoir

Available on NOOK devices and apps  
  • NOOK Devices
  • Samsung Galaxy Tab 4 NOOK 7.0
  • Samsung Galaxy Tab 4 NOOK 10.1
  • NOOK HD Tablet
  • NOOK HD+ Tablet
  • NOOK eReaders
  • NOOK Color
  • NOOK Tablet
  • Tablet/Phone
  • NOOK for Windows 8 Tablet
  • NOOK for iOS
  • NOOK for Android
  • NOOK Kids for iPad
  • PC/Mac
  • NOOK for Windows 8
  • NOOK for PC
  • NOOK for Mac
  • NOOK for Web

Want a NOOK? Explore Now

NOOK Book (eBook)
$9.99
BN.com price

Overview

"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.

Read More Show Less

Editorial Reviews

From the Publisher
"Coyre Feldman's new book is one of the best memoirs I've read all year." —Whitney Matheson, USA Today

"He narrates in a straightforward, conversational style that spares no details when it comes to darker subject matter...Fans of Feldman and those with an interest in the entertainment industry will appreciate the author's voice and anecdotes while feeling his pain." —Starred Publishers Weekly Review

"A harrowing tale of drugs, exploitation and sexual abuse. But it's an important story." —The Hollywood Reporter

"Corey comes clean about hard truths." —US Weekly

“As director and producer of many films that have featured child actors, I'd thought I'd seen and heard it all. Coreyography both entertained and delighted me with stories of Corey Feldman's life in Hollywood, as well as the Brat Pack. It shocked me even more. It's a book written from the heart, about a young man who is extremely talented and obviously pained; and that pain gave him the insight and ability to write a book that shed some real light on what happens to youth in Hollywood. An incredible read.” —Richard Donner, Director

Read More Show Less

Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9781250054913
  • Publisher: St. Martin's Press
  • Publication date: 10/7/2014
  • Edition description: Reprint
  • Pages: 304
  • Sales rank: 120,545
  • Product dimensions: 5.44 (w) x 8.16 (h) x 0.84 (d)

Meet the Author

COREY FELDMAN is a film and television actor, producer, musician, and father. He lives in Los Angeles, California, with his son, Zen.

Read More Show Less

Read an Excerpt

CHAPTER 1

 

 

I am three years old, sitting at the small round breakfast table in our tiny kitchen, eyeing a half-open box of cereal. There’s a toy surprise buried somewhere inside, and I’m itching for it. I bounce my feet impatiently atop the wooden rung of my chair, feel a cold dribble of milk slip across my lip and down my chin. As consumed as I am by that prize, however, I sense that there is something different, something even more exciting, about today. It’s still early morning in the San Fernando Valley—the sun is streaming through the little stained glass window above the door frame, casting a rainbow of shadows across the linoleum floor of the foyer—but the whole house is already buzzing with energy.

“Boobie?” My childhood nickname for my mother’s mother is a slightly more anatomical version of the term bubbe, the Yiddish word for grandmother. “What am I excited about?”

“Today is your first commercial.”

“My first commersmal?” I ask between bites. “The things before cartoons on TV?”

“Yes. Now finish your breakfast, please. You don’t want to be late on your first day.”

I scoop up the last few spoonfuls of cereal, slide down my chair, and pad down the hallway to my bedroom, where my clothes have been carefully laid out for me. Even though I didn’t know much about commercials (or commersmals, as I would call them for the next few years), I understood that this was serious business. I was a professional now.

At seven, my older sister Mindy was already a seasoned actress. She was the youngest cast member of the 1970s-era kids’ show The All-New Mickey Mouse Club and often spent two-week-long stints at Disneyland in Anaheim, performing bad renditions of Beatles songs in bright satin jumpsuits and oversized mouse ears for throngs of screaming, preteen fans. As the family breadwinner, Mindy was granted a wide berth by my parents; she was enrolled in a fancy private school and, when she wasn’t working, usually locked herself away in her room. I used to spend hours outside that door, straining to hear the music that sometimes rang out from her tiny record player (my favorite was the Wizard of Oz soundtrack). But when she was performing, I was generally allowed to wander through the theme park alongside her and her teenaged castmates. I watched, awestruck, as she navigated those early brushes with fame, signing autographs and posing for pictures, mobbed by her very own circle of groupies. I thought that being a Mouseketeer meant she had a perfect life. It made sense, then, that by following in her footsteps, my life was about to become special, too.

My first professional acting job was a minute-long spot for McDonald’s gift certificates. The setup was fairly simple: I would wake up in the middle of the night on Christmas Eve, stumble downstairs in my blue-footed pajamas, and leave a fifty-cent gift certificate for Santa, right on top of his plate of cookies, next to his glass of milk. When my mother and I arrived on set, a rented two-story home in the Valley, the director, Rob Lieberman, came over to say hello. He had a warm smile and a hippie-ish, Cat Stevens–like beard, a popular style back in 1975.

“Today is a very big day, Corey,” he said, kneeling down to speak to me at eye level. “Today, you’re going to meet Santa Claus!”

“But it’s the middle of summer!” I said, nonplussed. Rob patted my head and winked at my mom, and that was the end of that—off I went to be fitted in my pajamas.

As the day wore on, we shot take after take—I climbed in and out of bed, I teetered up and down the stairs—until, finally, it was time. Santa was going to reach his hand into the scene to collect his gift certificate and shout, “Ho, Ho, Ho!” while I looked on from between the wooden stair railings. I was crushed, however, when I realized that “Santa” was really just a regular-looking guy wearing a red coat sleeve with fluffy white trim.

“Where is the real Santa?” I asked. “Can I meet Santa Claus now?”

“The real Santa is going to come later,” Rob said, no doubt aware that his three-year-old star was headed for a production-halting meltdown. “Right now we just have to pretend.”

If shooting a Christmas commercial in July was my first clue that things in Hollywood are rarely as they seem, this sad excuse for a Santa was my second. And I never did get to meet the real Santa Claus that day. The McDonald’s ad, though, would run for the next eight Christmases and win a prestigious Clio award, the Oscar of the advertising world.

When you ask most people to reflect on their very first memory, the recollections usually fall within a range of familiar vignettes—that first game of catch with Mom or Dad, playing with a beloved stuffed animal or favorite toy, or watching Saturday morning cartoons. My first memory is shooting that McDonald’s commercial. I can’t remember anything before the start of my career.

*   *   *

Until the age of five, I lived with my parents, Bob and Sheila Feldman, and my big sister, Mindy, in a modest three-bedroom California ranch in the once-sleepy community of Chatsworth, a district of Los Angeles situated in the northwest San Fernando Valley, bordered to the north by the Santa Susana Mountains. My father, a musician and producer, wasn’t around much; most of his time was spent on the road, performing with his cover band, Scream, at Los Angeles–area theme parks, like Knott’s Berry Farm and Magic Mountain. So most of my days were spent at home with my mom. Boobie might come over to babysit, or to take Mindy to rehearsals and act as her on-set guardian, on the days when my mother had a headache or was too sick to get out of bed.

If the door to her bedroom was open, I would grab my toys and set up camp in her king-size bed or lounge on the floor beneath the television for hours, staying up late into the night to watch Saturday Night Live with Dan Aykroyd and John Belushi or my mother’s favorite show, the soap opera parody Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman. With the shades drawn, bathed in the blue light of the television screen, I would sit and study the hodgepodge of artifacts displayed around her room like talismans, the little ceramic frog statues that lined her windowsill (her favorite color was lime green), or the gilded frame that had sat on top of her nightstand for as long as I could remember. The pictorial had been torn from the pages of Playboy, and from it she smiled proudly, hand on hip. At five foot one she was the shortest among the waitresses at the Playboy Club in L.A. If I carefully picked up the frame to admire it, she might tell me stories about how she served drinks in a bunny uniform and did the famous bunny dip, bending at the knees instead of the waist so she wouldn’t “fall out of her top.”

“Hugh Hefner was a gentleman,” she would say with a certain reverence, taking the frame from me and putting it carefully back into place. “And he always left big tips.” I liked the way she winked when she said this, and I pictured Mr. Hefner as some sort of benevolent father figure, merrily dolling out “big tips” to other working women like my mom.

When she finished describing her days as a bunny, she might tell me about the wild parties she used to attend at Spahn Ranch, the sprawling five-hundred-acre stretch of land in the mountains above Chatsworth, once the backdrop for spaghetti Westerns and episodes of Bonanza and The Lone Ranger before Charles Manson and his “family” moved in, rent-free, around the time of the Tate-LaBianca murders in the summer of ’69. It was strange to think of my mother that way, as a single, carefree woman in the days before she had children. She was beautiful but, as I sensed even then, somehow dangerous.

On the good days, we’d pile in the car and drive the hills and troughs of the Valley, searching for strays or wounded animals in need of a “good home,” even though we already had a vicious black lab called Shadow, plus an Irish Setter and a little cream-colored Chihuahua, Twinkie, multiple cats, several ducks, a smattering of chickens, and two horses, a black-and-white gelding called Flash, and Wildfire, a brown mare.

More often, though, she was down, relegated to the confines of her bedroom, suffering from a mysterious range of maladies. In those days, I was too young to anticipate the high-highs and low-lows of someone with a depressive disorder, or to successfully navigate the unpredictable, violent swings that are borne of substance abuse. I just thought she needed my help.

“Corey?” she would call out, no matter where I was in the house. “Come in here and rub my feet.” I would trudge into the darkness and take her foot in my hands while she lay in bed, her forearm thrown over her face to shield her eyes from the light, her naked leg sticking out from deep beneath the blankets. She would cry and fidget and whine, and sometimes scream and curse and kick, even when I was brushing her hair or bringing her food or running her a bath. Those were the worst days—when her moods became like black holes, sucking the life from every corner of the house into that cold, dark room.

Sometimes her door would stay closed all day. If I had an audition, she might call my grandmother and demand that Boobie ferry me around town. If I wasn’t working, or if my grandmother was busy with Mindy, I would make my breakfast, feed the horses out back on the farm, and then retreat to my room, locked away for hours with my action figures, acting out elaborate fantasies, playing heroes and villains or cops and robbers or pulling them apart at the joints to inspect the elaborate system of hooks and rubber bands that held them together. I wasn’t allowed to have friends over, and I wasn’t allowed to leave the house. So, sometimes I just zipped myself in the giant gray suitcase, warm and dank, smelling of sweat and leather and the sea. In those early days in the Chatsworth house, I learned to entertain myself.

*   *   *

“You were supposed to be a blond.”

My mother is alternately scrubbing my scalp with her fingers and shoving my face under the faucet of the bathroom sink. The peroxide burns, and the smell is making me nauseous but, apparently, I was supposed to have been a blond-haired, blue-eyed child. Instead, she got stuck with me. With my head still wedged under the faucet, water rushing into my nose and mouth, she pauses long enough to wipe the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. “This is who you were supposed to be,” she keeps telling me, though it’s difficult to make out what she’s saying with so much water in my ears.

The McDonald’s commercial has energized her, and she is full of ideas, plans, and strategies—besides just changing my hair color—to help me with my new career. For example, if I can learn a repertoire of folky songs, like “Raindrops Keep Fallin’ on My Head” and Jim Croce’s “Junk Food Junkie,” I will almost certainly book more jobs.

“You’re going to sing a song and they’re going to go, isn’t he cute?” she tells me, before locking me in my room with Mindy’s record player and instructions not to come out until I have learned every word.

Learning the words, however, is not the hard part—I have no trouble memorizing dialogue, even though I am only four. The problem is that I can’t carry a tune to save my life. My voice squeaks and strains. I can’t match the notes that I hear in the recordings.

When I emerge from my room to perform for her approval, she sighs. “You’re not much of a singer, are you?” It’s clear that she enjoys making fun of me. It’s obvious that she finds pleasure in making me feel inadequate. She points her finger toward the narrow hallway and sends me back to practice more—however long it takes, she says—until I get it right.

I can’t get it right, but I quickly learn how to stick my hands in the pockets of my Osh Kosh overalls at the end of an audition, don a sort of aw-shucks pose, and say, “Hey, do you mind if I sing a song for you?” Then I belt out some horrifically off-key, awkward version of “Put on a Happy Face” for a panel of casting directors. It works like gangbusters. I shoot ads for Apple Jacks, Colgate, Hawaiian Punch, Pan Am, Dole Pineapple, and Wyler’s Grape drink mix, one right after the other. By the age of ten, I will have filmed more than one hundred.

*   *   *

Mindy and I are generally responsible for making our own breakfasts—my mother, after all, isn’t a “morning person.” But the sugary cereals I love, the cookies and crackers and snacks, have started to disappear, hidden on a shelf high in the kitchen that I have to crawl on top of a counter to reach. One morning, my sister and I take our seats at the small round table and Mindy pours herself a bowl of Alpha Bits. I love Alpha Bits. I can spell all kinds of words in my spoon. I reach to pour myself a bowl when my mother, appearing out of nowhere, suddenly yanks the box from my hand.

“You can’t eat that,” she says. “It’s fattening.”

“Why does Mindy get to eat it?”

She turns and glares at me. “Because Mindy isn’t fat.”

Whenever we happen to walk past an overweight person while we’re out looking for strays, my mother physically recoils. “Fat pig,” she whispers under her breath. Her secret nickname for my father’s mother, admittedly a rather large woman, is Piggy Feldman. So I know that being fat is the worst thing you can possibly be. I do have round, chubby, cherubic cheeks, but I always thought that I would grow into them. Now she tells me that if I’m not careful, I’ll grow up to be a fat, disgusting pig, too. She lifts my shirt and pinches a fold of my skin between her fingers. “See?” she says. “That’s more than an inch.” (My mother is obsessed with the new “pinch more than an inch” Special K campaign; she’ll continue pinching me like this for years.)

Soon there is a new rule: No eating—at all—until she wakes up. This is especially challenging, because sometimes she stays in bed until two or three in the afternoon. I distract myself with my toys, or put on my grandmother’s Rubbermaid dishwashing gloves and tie a blue hand towel around my neck, zooming around the living room like a superhero, flying off furniture, trying to ignore the low, gurgling sound of the rumble in my tummy. And then I decide, after a while, that no one will actually notice if I quietly make myself a snack.

*   *   *

“Corey, get in here.” She’s in her 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 Shadow climb up into the cupboard?”

“Maybe…?” I venture, hoping she’ll let my thievery go.

“Don’t lie to me, Corey. You’re lying. Did you eat the cookies?”

“Well, maybe I ate one.”

“Maybe you ate one?”

“Or two.”

“Which is it? One or two?”

I swallow, hard. “I ate two.”

She sits up a little at my admission. “Well, then, you’re grounded. Those cookies are not for you and you know it. So now I want you to come in here and stare at the wall for one hour. And you’re not going to have anything else to eat for the rest of the day.”

I walk slowly into her room and take my place in the corner. I look at my feet, at the wall, at anything but her. She drones on and on until I suddenly realize that I am afraid of her, that I hate her. Still, I want nothing more than to crawl into her big bed and watch Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman, or listen to her stories about bunnies and parties and what her life was like before me.

“You have no right to disrespect me like this.” She’s in a rage now, huffing and puffing. “You ungrateful shit. How dare you look at me like that?”

“I’m not looking at you,” I say.

“Well then turn around and look at me when I’m talking to you! Do you have any idea how lucky you are? Do you realize that most women would die to look like this after two kids? Look at these tits,” she says, cupping her breasts in her hands. But I don’t want to look at her. I just want something to eat.

I thought back to the Baskin-Robbins commercial I had filmed just a few weeks before, to the mountains of pumpkin ice cream that had stretched before me, to the way the assistant director had smiled when he handed me a spoon. Actors are generally encouraged not to swallow on shoots like these; ingesting bite after bite, shooting take after take, would be enough to make most people sick. But I had learned a clever trick. I would only pretend to spit out my food in a napkin. That’s how I went through one-and-a-half gallons, secretly savoring every bite.

I knew my mother was getting worse, her behavior more erratic. I couldn’t, however, understand why. From my perspective, nothing much had changed, except that I was working more, booking more jobs, going on more auditions. And yet, she still knew how to turn on the charm, how to perform for people’s approval. She might have spent the entire morning in bed, calling me “fatso” and “piggy” and ordering me around the house, but then we’d drive to an audition and she would immediately switch gears. As soon as we stepped onto the parking lot pavement, she’d jerk my arm and say, “That’s enough now. Wipe off the tears.” Then we’d breeze through the door of the casting office and she’d be bright and buoyant, a giant smile plastered across her face. If someone inquired about my red eyes and blotchy cheeks, she’d simply shrug.

“I don’t know what he’s so upset about,” she would say. “He’s such a good actor, this kid. He’s so dramatic. Always acting. That’s what he does best.”

 

Copyright © 2013 by Corey Feldman

Read More Show Less

Customer Reviews

Average Rating 4
( 37 )
Rating Distribution

5 Star

(25)

4 Star

(5)

3 Star

(1)

2 Star

(2)

1 Star

(4)

Your Rating:

Your Name: Create a Pen Name or

Barnes & Noble.com Review Rules

Our reader reviews allow you to share your comments on titles you liked, or didn't, with others. By submitting an online review, you are representing to Barnes & Noble.com that all information contained in your review is original and accurate in all respects, and that the submission of such content by you and the posting of such content by Barnes & Noble.com does not and will not violate the rights of any third party. Please follow the rules below to help ensure that your review can be posted.

Reviews by Our Customers Under the Age of 13

We highly value and respect everyone's opinion concerning the titles we offer. However, we cannot allow persons under the age of 13 to have accounts at BN.com or to post customer reviews. Please see our Terms of Use for more details.

What to exclude from your review:

Please do not write about reviews, commentary, or information posted on the product page. If you see any errors in the information on the product page, please send us an email.

Reviews should not contain any of the following:

  • - HTML tags, profanity, obscenities, vulgarities, or comments that defame anyone
  • - Time-sensitive information such as tour dates, signings, lectures, etc.
  • - Single-word reviews. Other people will read your review to discover why you liked or didn't like the title. Be descriptive.
  • - Comments focusing on the author or that may ruin the ending for others
  • - Phone numbers, addresses, URLs
  • - Pricing and availability information or alternative ordering information
  • - Advertisements or commercial solicitation

Reminder:

  • - By submitting a review, you grant to Barnes & Noble.com and its sublicensees the royalty-free, perpetual, irrevocable right and license to use the review in accordance with the Barnes & Noble.com Terms of Use.
  • - Barnes & Noble.com reserves the right not to post any review -- particularly those that do not follow the terms and conditions of these Rules. Barnes & Noble.com also reserves the right to remove any review at any time without notice.
  • - See Terms of Use for other conditions and disclaimers.
Search for Products You'd Like to Recommend

Recommend other products that relate to your review. Just search for them below and share!

Create a Pen Name

Your Pen Name is your unique identity on BN.com. It will appear on the reviews you write and other website activities. Your Pen Name cannot be edited, changed or deleted once submitted.

 
Your Pen Name can be any combination of alphanumeric characters (plus - and _), and must be at least two characters long.

Continue Anonymously
See All Sort by: Showing 1 – 20 of 37 Customer Reviews
  • Posted October 29, 2013

    I Also Recommend:

    Corey Feldman is a Hollywood legend in some regards and a Hollyw

    Corey Feldman is a Hollywood legend in some regards and a Hollywood joke in other regards. He was a fantastic child actor, then in his teens and early twenties became second fiddle to the other Corey, Corey Haim. Over the course of his career he had numerous romances with Hollywood starlets and adult film stars. This story, told in his own words, is phenomenal. I loved this book and highly recommend it.

    14 out of 14 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Posted November 5, 2013

    I Also Recommend:

    Coreyography is an amazing book. I was so touched by Corey¿s hon

    Coreyography is an amazing book. I was so touched by Corey’s honesty about his miserable youth in Hollywood and how those traumas have stunted him in many ways. A truly great book. Five stars.

    7 out of 7 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted October 31, 2013

    Wow

    I would never have thought that Corey would throw his "bff" under the bus like he did in this book. As he said it was Haim's story to tell...not his but after Haim died it became his?! He spoke openly about the sexual abuse Haim endured but didnt talk about his as much. The book seemed to me a place to "drop names" and not tell much of his story....just promote what movies and shows he did and with who. It seemed to me he told more of Corey Haims story than his own. I can understand how Judy is very offended by this as Haim isnt alive to defend or correct what was stated about him. In my opinion a TRUE friend would never tell others secrets or anything that would make that person look bad whether they are alive or dead. So to the Corey whom wrote this book...maybe more about your life and not about others----just think about it!

    6 out of 10 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted October 30, 2013

    What....

    Wow he had a messed up youth. At least now he is living a better life. Have not been able to put this book down. Wont take long to finish.

    6 out of 6 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Posted November 14, 2013

    I Also Recommend:

    Coreography is a remarkable book. It details a torrid childhood

    Coreography is a remarkable book. It details a torrid childhood in Hollywood of famous actor Corey Feldman. Feldman will forever be remembered for his work is such films as Stand By Me, The Goonies, and The Lost Boys. In addition to all the information on Corey’s life, it also has a lot of information on the life of his buddy, the late Corey Haim. It is a fine book, well worth reading.

    4 out of 4 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted October 31, 2013

    I was a die hard fan of both Coreys in the 80s. I enjoyed remin

    I was a die hard fan of both Coreys in the 80s. I enjoyed reminiscing on some of their films over the years; however, the book makes you take a different prospective on their rein. At the time, they seemed to have it all and you couldn't help but wonder, why they would throw it away by using drugs. The drugs were essential in easing the years of abuse. The book was brilliantly written and it brutally honest. My heart breaks for them both. Thank you Corey for writing this book for your self and your bff, Corey Haim.

    4 out of 5 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted November 2, 2013

    Corry Feldman

    Loved it!

    3 out of 3 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted December 31, 2013

    Highly recommended

    This book definitely is a view of childhood actors I did not expect. Corey writes well, is very detailed, and makes you want to continue reading. The only thing I was uncomfortable with is that he reveals so much about others, especially the other Corey. Is this all true? We can't know 100%, but it certainly is a good read.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted December 10, 2013

    Don't waste your time

    Although I was looking forward to reading this book, I was sadly disappointed. It was like reading only the headlines of a gossip paper. There was no depth or insight.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted November 16, 2013

    Great book! Very informative.

    Really liked the two coreys, thought they were treated like dirt after hollywood felt they had no use for them anymore. Great read, highly recommend.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted September 27, 2014

    Loved it!

    I absolutely loved this book! It explained so much, especially being a fan of both Corey's and child of the 80's. I am just happy that Corey is happy, healthy, and enjoying life with his son. Also, thank you, Corey, for finally giving your brother the peace he so deserved. This book touched me so much, I felt as if I traveled Corey's journey with him. Great job!

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted June 29, 2014

    Couldn't put it down!

    Love it! Very personal and very well writen. I personally enjoyed that he didn't talk only about himself. I also think he was very respectful when including others in his story even if their role wasn't a positive one. Sometimes I smiled and sometimes my heart ached for him. Exactly what I hoped for going into this book.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Posted May 12, 2014

    well written. good story telling. corey has a lot of things to s

    well written. good story telling. corey has a lot of things to spill about his life. he talks about his growing up a young actor in Hollywood, and of course mentions many other young stars names. I didn't mind the name dropping simply because it sets the tone of voice to tell the story of how those other young Hollywood kids behaved behind the scenes. this was a time before TMZ and radar online. his insights and name droppings I found interesting because it's gossip that wasn't really know back then. he speaks of his friendship in great detail with corey haim. I think once you read corey's book, you have a better understanding for the person he is now. he's definitely flawed now, and it's quite apparent as to how he's evolved into the person that he is due to his experiences as a young kid growing up in Hollywood.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted May 11, 2014

    Excellent read for all "two Coreys" fans who grew up i

    Excellent read for all "two Coreys" fans who grew up in the 80's. We don't really learn anything glaringly new--
    the drug and sexual abuse had been exposed long ago, but Corey does a nice job of conveying the details
    in his memoir. A fair criticism may be that he sees himself as a victim and does little to take responsibility for 
    his actions, but all in all, he was a victim, so how can we really judge those experiences? The memoir is far 
    more dark and sad than it is light and humorous, so prepare yourself for a heavy read. 

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted May 1, 2014

    Not what you think

    I thought this was a book about Corey Feldman but it was mostly about Corey Haim. I feel like he threw his friend under the bus in this book. Very sad!

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Posted April 21, 2014

    Good read! Sometimes forget hes so young.

    I always wanted to know his story. He wrote it very well and made you feel like you were along for the ride. A bumpy ride it is. Worth reading, for sure!

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Posted March 28, 2014

    I have read just about every celebrity biography out there for t

    I have read just about every celebrity biography out there for the last 30 years and have to say this was a very honest story that I read almost beginning to end. Never boring and quite consuming I wanted his book to keep going and hope one day he writes a sequel. Very good book!

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted March 8, 2014

    I loved this book! It is very well written and was hard to put

    I loved this book! It is very well written and was hard to put down. I had no idea of the struggles that Corey faced growing up and I commend him for being brave enough to tell his story.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Posted February 7, 2014

    Amazing book

    I bought this book because I was totally in love with the "Corey's" I found this book to be everything I expected. It was sad, and happy and everything in between. My heart ached over and over reading it. I would say a must read for any child of the 80's-90's

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted January 24, 2014

    This book really pulls you in, hard to put down. It's honest, en

    This book really pulls you in, hard to put down. It's honest, endearing, sad, beautiful. For anyone who grew up being a kid in the 70's and 80's, you will relate to all the references he mentions, as well as get a front row seat and a behind the scenes tour of all the movies you grew up watching. It's like having a back stage pass to his world. The tragedy of his childhood and the loss of his innocence is sad, but so brave of him to share so that the truth is out now and parents might take better care of their children in the future if they hear his story.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
See All Sort by: Showing 1 – 20 of 37 Customer Reviews

If you find inappropriate content, please report it to Barnes & Noble
Why is this product inappropriate?
Comments (optional)