We Did OK, Kid: A Memoir by Anthony Hopkins – Insights: An Icon with a Temper
Widely regarded as the greatest introduction in cinematic history – while he stands without moving a muscle.
The FBI trainee, just starting out, must walk a corridor of cells until she reaches Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, his face resembling an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move right up until he throws himself against the glass, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are often very boring, with nothing resembling the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.
He was not unrecognized when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film in 1989: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, as well as his rigorously precise Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a sore point for Anthony, who further explains how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and drinking.
Anthony Hopkins as a toddler on the beach in 1941.
The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a plain speaker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and refused to showing his emotions, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the way they had to go cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”
The humility worked, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. But one day during an English class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then financial aid was available to attend Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and began crying.
Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, which he liked more over theater. He gave up alcohol in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.
In the later sections of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He mentions having lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Truly?
He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it's your duty to get there on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Indeed. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”
Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply