We Did OK, Kid: A Memoir by Anthony Hopkins – Analysis: A Legend with a Temper
It stands as the most memorable introduction in movie lore – yet the actor stays completely still.
The FBI trainee, just starting out, must walk a row of prison cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, his face resembling a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, chillingly static clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen before suddenly he lunges toward the window, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Hopkins' commanding screen presence.
He wasn't exactly unrecognized when he landed that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: a star wasn't born, but a legend was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his rigorously precise Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a sore point for Hopkins, who further explains how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and his alcohol use.
A young Hopkins at three years old on Aberavon beach.
The title originates from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a pastry chef and man's man, a straightforward talker who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and avoided expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who was angered by the way they had to go humbly to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”
The pleading was effective, for a while. He was a poor student at his new school. But one day in a literature class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then scholarships existed to go to Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and began crying.
Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but stumbled upon a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it through midlife to execute great performances, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.
During the second part of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He recalls going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor 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 of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Truly?
He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it is one's responsibility to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Quite so. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”
He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply
