Larry Brody’s Poetry: ‘Kid Hollywood Had A Mighty Fine Deal’

Who sez only H’wood wimmins can have great closets?

by Larry Brody


Time now for a few words about Kid Hollywood. Words I never thought I would want anyone to hear or read. So here we go with another true story about life in the Big Bad City. Maybe I should subtitle this “A Cautionary Tale But With Redemption.” Happy endings, gang! Give us a big hand!

Oh, yeah. This one’s kind of long. Not Faery Queen long, but still….

Kid Hollywood Had A Mighty Fine Deal

So how did Kid Hollywood finally shuffle off to

Buffalo? What made him stop that Rodeo to

Sunset to Gower Gulch drive?

Well, believe it or not, it was personal.

That’s right. No creative differences here.

No protesting silly changes, or stars’ ad libs.

It was love caused the big

Fade Out.

Or was it that old-time ambition?

Kid Hollywood had long since gone beyond


But was still into

I want,

So I won’t lie to my new self about my old.

It was ambition, after all, sent Kid Hollywood

Running higgledy piggledy

Hither and yon,

Ambition (not love) betrayed.

What happened was, as successful as the Kid grew,

He never felt he was really getting his due. Others

Got better projects, or bigger salaries, or more

Wondrous reviews.

Others got laid more, and named more in

Columns and stories and interviews.

Others made bolder advances

Along creative frontiers.

Kid Hollywood grew envious, even

Bitter. But, God! he had fine clothes,

And that fabulous art collection,

And cars,

And oh what a house!

Not enough.

Never, as has been said,


Until the last script.

Kid Hollywood’s last script began with a

Mighty fine deal.

Mighty fine, yessir. Lots of guarantees, pay or

Plays, royalties, and buy-outs, and back ends.

Millions involved.

And a chance to do something great.

“You have a unique talent,” the Monster

Of Film Land said. “You can do things

Other writers cannot. I have no talent at all.

But I love talent. I want to help talent.

If I’d been there, Mozart would have died

Old, fat, and rich. Van Gogh would have

Had his pick of patrons, and at least

Three ears. I missed out on them.

I’m here for you.

Anything you want to create, I want to see created.

You write. I’ll produce it. I’ll sell.




I signed, and I created. I wrote, and he sold,

And it went up on the screen.

Money for Kid Hollywood,

And approval.

And more chances for more of the same.

Two things did Kid Hollywood live for,


And love.

He learned to love whatever helped his

Ambition, loved the Monster,

Thought he saw past the mask

To the soul.

So did the Kid love?

Or just want?

Or was there, beyond everything,

A genuine need?

Well, anyway, so far so good. Nothing here

for a Hollywood adieu. Success! Top of the

Mountain! Everything as promised.

We had a very happy Kid Hollywood here,

Only then, guess what happened?

No, no, no, try again.

This is about betrayal, remember?

And in Hollywood, what’s the ultimate way?

Close, very close,

But no, it isn’t that the checks started to bounce.

It’s that they—

Just stopped.

No more payments. No more money.

No more midnight meetings,

Or plans for new shows.

No more—Oh, for God’s sake, I admit it—

No more dreaming.

No more.



With millions withheld.

The Monster had played the true

Monster game, parlayed his investment

Into a Jamaican account.

Better than Switzerland!

Safer than the Antilles!

Gone in sixty seconds! went the deal.



A reaction to some threat?

Unknown. Unknown to this day.

What’s known is that the Kid was

Caught high and dry, pants down

And dreams in the sky.

Caught needing.

Oh, Kid Hollywood had a mighty fine deal.

Mighty fine deal, yessir. Lots of guarantees, pay or

Plays, royalties, and buy-outs, and back ends.

Millions involved.

And a chance to do something great.


Kid Hollywood went broke,

Financially and creatively.

Grew silent.

Spoke to no one.

And to his wonder,

Grew to understand his pain.

After all, it was there, it was real, it was

A Sign.

So the Kid

Learned the dance,

Tapped up a storm,

And exited stage right.

It wasn’t death, not really.

More like taking off a disguise.

Shamen are shape-changers.

They become else in order to be.

Sometimes they become trapped in their

New forms, the animal brain taking over,

And they forget who they’ve been.

What they are.

Kid Hollywood was the ultimate shaman,

Trapped in a shape untrue.

Now that he’s gone, I am free

To want,

And to need,

And to dream.


Hell, just let me love!

Larry Brody is the head dood at TVWriter™. He is posting at least one poem a week here at TVWriter™ because, as the Navajo Dog herself once pointed out, “Art has to be free. If you create it for money, you lose your vision, and yourself.” She said it shorter, though, with just a snort.

We're looking forward to your comments!

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.