CORY FELDMAN’S TRAGIC ODYSSEY: A Child Star Devoured by Hollywood’s Dark Machine

By Elena Vasquez, Entertainment Correspondent Los Angeles, October 27, 2025 — Cory Feldman’s life is a haunting testament to Hollywood’s predatory underbelly, a tale of a child star whose innocence was stolen by an industry that celebrated his talent while ignoring his torment. From his first McDonald’s commercial at age three to his viral Today Show performance in 2016, Feldman’s journey through fame was marred by abuse, addiction, and betrayal. His relentless crusade to expose the systemic predation that shattered his childhood — and claimed the life of his best friend, Cory Haim — has made him both a pariah and a prophet in a town that buries its sins. As #FeldmanTruth trends with 1.2 million posts on X, his story remains a chilling warning: Hollywood’s glitz hides a darkness that devours its young.

Feldman’s career began before he could read a script. At three, his cherubic charm in a McDonald’s ad, which won a Cleo Award and ran for eight years, marked him as a golden ticket for his parents, Bob Feldman and Sheila Goldstein. Bob, a struggling musician, and Sheila, a cocktail waitress, saw their son’s talent as their escape from obscurity. By 10, Cory had filmed over 100 commercials and appeared in Eight Is Enough, The Love Boat, and Mork & Mindy, amassing $1 million. But the windfall fueled his parents’ lavish lifestyle — designer clothes, a Hollywood Hills mansion — while Cory paid the price: a childhood erased by grueling schedules and brutal discipline.

Sheila, morphing from mother to stage tyrant, booked Cory relentlessly, her temper flaring violently when he faltered. She beat him with curtain rods and hangers, once chasing him with a makeshift weapon, screaming he was “useless.” Bob’s punishments were equally savage, wielding belts until they snapped. By 10, Cory was their “personal ATM,” his earnings squandered on their dreams. The industry, dazzled by his professionalism, ignored his exhaustion and bruises, valuing his output over his well-being. Child labor laws existed, but enforcement was a myth for a star generating millions.

At 14, the horrors deepened. Emancipated after discovering his parents had spent his fortune, leaving him $40,000, Cory faced Hollywood unprotected. Predators — men posing as mentors — circled. John Gryom, an assistant hired by his father, introduced him to crack, lowering his defenses for abuse. Alfie Hoffman’s Soda Pop Club, a supposed networking hub, was a grooming ground where kids as young as 10 were plied with alcohol and drugs. Martin Weiss, a talent manager later convicted of child molestation, exploited Cory’s vulnerability. These men operated in a coordinated network, sharing victims and shielding each other, enabled by an industry that turned a blind eye. “Pedophilia was, is, and always will be Hollywood’s number one problem,” Feldman told Nightline in 2011, a claim met with silence or denial.

Cory’s bond with Cory Haim, forged on the 1987 set of The Lost Boys, became his lifeline. Both survivors of similar abuse — Haim was raped at 11 by a powerful industry figure — they found solace in shared pain. Dubbed “The Two Coreys,” their chemistry fueled hits like License to Drive and Dream a Little Dream, but fame couldn’t heal their wounds. Drugs, introduced by predators, became their escape, spiraling into addictions that studios ignored as long as they performed. By the late ’80s, their erratic behavior — late arrivals, forgotten lines — saw Hollywood discard them as “damaged goods.” Haim’s 2010 death at 38 from pneumonia, complicated by an enlarged heart, was a grim coda to a life broken by trauma. Feldman, woken by family with the news, wept for the only person who truly understood their shared nightmare.

Feldman’s fight for justice began in earnest after Haim’s death. His 2013 memoir, Coreyography, a New York Times bestseller, detailed his abuse, naming Gryom and exposing Hollywood’s complicity. In 2020, his documentary My Truth: The Rape of Two Coreys accused Charlie Sheen of raping Haim at 13 during Lucas’s filming, a claim Sheen and Haim’s mother, Judy, vehemently denied. Technical glitches marred the livestream, which Feldman claimed were cyberattacks to suppress the truth. The LAPD investigated but dropped the case, citing expired statutes of limitations and lack of physical evidence — a recurring barrier for survivors of decades-old crimes.

The industry’s retaliation was swift. After Coreyography, Feldman’s career prospects vanished, and he faced death threats, forcing him to flee the country. His 2016 Today Show performance of Go 4 It with “Corey’s Angels” — a group critics called exploitative — drew brutal mockery, amassing millions of views in viral memes. The surreal act, with its robotic vocals and awkward choreography, wasn’t just a misstep; it was a traumatized man’s attempt to reclaim his narrative, met with cruelty that ignored his history. “They laughed because my pain was visible,” he later said, tearfully defending his effort.

Feldman’s personal life mirrored his professional turmoil. His 1989 marriage to Vanessa Marcil, a publicity stunt at 18, ended in 1993. His 2002 marriage to Susie Sprague, televised on The Surreal Life, produced his son, Zen, now 21, his anchor in sobriety. But that union crumbled in 2014, followed by a 2023 separation from Courtney Anne Mitchell. Each failure, Feldman says, reflects the trust issues sown by childhood abuse. Yet Zen remains his purpose, a reason to break the cycle of trauma.

Today, Feldman advocates for child actor protections, speaking at conferences and pushing for legal reforms. His story, though, is bigger than one man — it’s a damning indictment of an industry that profits from children while failing to shield them. As he told The View in 2013, only to be rebuked by Barbara Walters for “damaging” Hollywood, the system protects its predators over its victims. With no convictions for the crimes he’s described, Feldman’s fight continues, a lone voice for countless silenced stars. His tragedy isn’t just personal — it’s Hollywood’s shame, laid bare.