We Did OK, Kid: A Memoir by Anthony Hopkins – Insights: An Icon with a Temper
Widely regarded as the most iconic entrance in movie lore – and he remains without moving a muscle.
The FBI trainee, a rookie, navigates the line of detention units arriving at the notorious doctor's transparent prison. There he stands, appearing as a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move right up until he lunges against the glass, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since shown that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, far from Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.
Hopkins was hardly an unknown when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was forged. His Dr. Lecter was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his rigorously precise Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a difficult topic for Anthony, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and his drinking habits.
Hopkins in 1941, aged three, on Aberavon beach.
The title originates from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a baker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and didn't believe in showing his emotions, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the necessity of going humbly to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and could get young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”
The grovelling paid off, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. Then, during during an English class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time there were grants for drama school – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and wept openly.
Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, which he preferred over theater. He stopped drinking back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.
During the second part of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He mentions being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Really?
He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it's your duty to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Quite so. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”
He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply