After three decades marketing some of Hollywood’s biggest movies, Gerry Rich set out to tell the story of his own unlikely journey to the film business. Writing Chasing Hollywood revealed another story about the Jewish communities that gave him belonging, courage and a place to land along the way. The book is available to order now.
By Gerry Rich
I spent most of my life thinking my Hollywood story began with movies.
For more than three decades, I marketed other people’s movies for a living, digging into their stories to figure out what would make an audience care. In 2025, after leaving my job as head of marketing at Amazon MGM Studios, I finally turned that lens on myself.I saw it as a memoir about how a film-loving kid from St. Louis, with no industry connections, dreamed and worked his way to Hollywood and found himself collaborating with some of the very artists he’d admired his whole life. But writing that memoir, Chasing Hollywood, revealed another story: how deeply my Jewish upbringing shaped the pursuit of that dream.
My family lived in Olivette, a suburb of St. Louis, and remained in the same house throughout my childhood. I grew up alongside the same friends from pre-K through high school. Most of the families were Jewish, and as I moved from grade school to high school, my circle expanded to include friends from more affluent families in wealthier zip codes. Many of those families had more resources than mine but being aware of those differences strengthened my determination to build a secure future for myself.
St. Louis had a large Jewish community, including families like mine whose grandparents hadfled Russia and other eastern European countries. I remember thinking as a kid that Jews weren’t a minority at all but that we must be the majority in the world.
My family belonged to the United Hebrew Synagogue, which in 1837 was the first synagogue to open in St. Louis and the first to open west of the Mississippi. It is a reform synagogue, and that’s how we practiced — observant of the primary holidays, like the High Holy Days and Passover.
Many of my school friends also went to United Hebrew, and my Jewish upbringing included Hebrew school twice a week and religious studies on Sunday. Spending Sundays in an old building without AC wasn’t a pleasure, but it wasn’t a choice. It was a grind and our friendships grew even stronger having that shared experience. And while I was learning Jewish history and traditions, one of the most important things that happened at an early age was building a sense of community. This proved to be a great equalizer: we were all there together. It didn’t matter if these kids were from more affluent homes or picked up in nicer cars, we were all in this together.
I was, in fact, learning to build community that would become essential as I went on my journey beyond St. Louis.
From the age of 10, I was fixated with finding a path to Los Angeles and its famed Hollywood film scene, a world that seemed far beyond my reach. I had never traveled west of Missouri and I didn’t know anybody in Los Angeles. But I was fascinated to learn that my dad’s Aunt Sylvia left St. Louis decades earlier and lived in the Fairfax district in the heart of Los Angeles. To me, that was a connection to the city of my dreams. I begged my parents to invite her to my bar mitzvah. She didn’t come but sent me a small, faux- bejeweled prayer book with the inscription:
Dear Gerry,
This is a great reference book. Use it well, and it will do good by you.
Love,
Aunt Sylvia
And I did. Along my journey from childhood to adulthood, and from Missouri to California, I often referred to that book. What made it special was that it was a gift from my great aunt, whom I never met but who was my only relative in the city of my dreams.
After graduating from San Diego State University, I finally made it to my geographic destination — Los Angeles — in pursuit of my dream vocation. My San Diego roommate, Ricky Mintz, invited me to stay with his L.A. family when I first arrived. The Mintz’s were conservative Jews and took me in as one of their own and made me feel a part of their extended family. That made me feel tethered at a time when I easily could have felt incredibly lost and vulnerable. (By the way, I finally did meet Aunt Sylvia and took comfort that I had family in my new home city of Los Angeles.)
After moving into my own apartment, I began actively pursuing a career in the film industry and discovered the Beverly Hills Temple of the Arts, a synagogue serving members of the arts and entertainment community. In a way, I already belonged: I was surrounded by like-minded people, some of whom I would later encounter at screenings and in boardrooms. I remember that at my first service, the rabbi was introducing a congregation member to deliver an Aliyah, a blessing before a Torah read. The man was introduced as a great husband and father; a loyal and devoted congregant; and a formidable producer who has a three-picture deal at Tri-Star Pictures. I wasn’t in Missouri anymore, that’s for sure!
As I started to find my way into and through the ranks of the film business, I faced a personal crossroads. I was in my late 20s and finally decided it was time to face the truth about my sexuality. Slowly, I came out to close friends and family and was fortunate to receive their unconditional support. I was introduced to another congregation, Kol Ami, a Los Angeles-based synagogue that caters to the LGBTQ+ community and its many allies. They provided a powerful intersection of faith and community that helped me immensely on the road to self-acceptance.
As I continued growing and evolving in my professional career, I met and collaborated with so many other people of the Jewish faith who I long admired in the industry, like Steven Spielberg, Sherry Lansing, Mike Nichols, and Lorne Michaels. That shared connection meant something to me. I had found my place in the world I had dreamed about when I was a kid in St. Louis, and once again, Jewish community was part of what made me feel I belonged.
I once measured faith by how strictly a person practiced their religion, believing that Conservative and Orthodox Jews had a stronger claim to it than I did. I now understand that faith is not defined by the degree of religious practice. As a Reform Jew, my faith helped me build community, find courage when I felt stuck or afraid, and endure the loss of both of my beloved parents. Writing this book revealed to me that faith was one of my superpowers — it was the force that helped me make the unthinkable possible. When I was 13, Aunt Sylvia sent me that little prayer book from Los Angeles and told me, “Use it well, and it will do good by you.” I carried it with me from Missouri to California and into the life I had dreamed about since I was a kid. It took writing Chasing Hollywood for me to understand just how right she was.
Gerry Rich was just 10 when he set his sights on marketing movies, beginning his Chasing Hollywood journey. By forging new paths beyond his St. Louis neighborhood, he innovated his way to California, scrappily climbing from a humble post-college advertising job to the top of the Hollywood food chain. Named by Ad Age as one of the Top 100 Marketers in America, Rich has proven his marketing leadership at Columbia Pictures, De Laurentiis Entertainment Group, Miramax, Paramount, and MGM/United Artists. He has also consulted for Universal Pictures and leading film financiers.
