We Did OK, Kid: A Memoir by Anthony Hopkins – Insights: An Icon with a Temper
Many consider it the greatest entrance in movie lore – and he remains completely still.
Clarice Starling, just starting out, proceeds down a corridor of cells until she reaches Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. He is positioned, his face resembling an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless before suddenly he throws himself toward the window, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since shown that real-life murderers are often very boring, lacking anything like the actor's commanding screen presence.
Hopkins was hardly unrecognized at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar emerged. The character of Hannibal was based, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, as well as his icily exacting Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a painful subject for Anthony, who also describes how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and his alcohol use.
A young Hopkins at three years old on Aberavon beach.
The title originates from an historical picture of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a pastry chef and man's man, a straightforward talker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and avoided expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented how they were forced cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and could get young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”
The humility worked, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. Then, during during an English class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then scholarships existed to attend Rada – a way up for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and wept openly.
Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but lucked into a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, that he favored to the stage. He gave up alcohol in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.
In the latter half of the book he appears more reserved, more studied. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He recalls being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Really?
He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it is one's responsibility to get there on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Absolutely. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”
Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply