The 80s teen star is known for odd, even sleazy behaviour. Is that why his claims about the film industry are not taken seriously?
At first glance, Corey Feldman’s house looks ridiculous. A crooked
Christmas wreath hangs on the front door, even though it is late January. Feldman’s assistant lets me into the two-storey home in the hills of
Los Angeles, and when I walk into the living room I have to bite the insides of my cheeks to stop myself from gasping: hanging above the fireplace is a drawing of Feldman from his 80s teen glory years. The bookcases are packed with vintage toys, most still in their boxes, most from Feldman’s own movies: there’s Goonies merch, Gremlins memorabilia, The Lost Boys souvenirs. And, of course, there are the inevitable posters of his films, including License to Drive and Stand By Me. It’s like a parody of how one might imagine a former child star’s house to look: one part Neverland to two parts Norma Desmond. I haven’t even mentioned the picture of Michael Jackson – with whom Feldman was friends as a child – in the front hallway, greeting you as you walk past.
I was a big Feldman fan back in the day, and maintain that his performance in Stand By Me equals River Phoenix’s more acclaimed one. But standing in his living room I find myself doing what most others do about Feldman these days: “Look at this guy,” I think, giving in to the siren call of snark. “What a joke!”