We Did OK, Kid: A Memoir by Anthony Hopkins – Analysis: A Legend Known for His Fiery Nature
Many consider it the most iconic appearance in movie lore – yet the actor stays completely still.
Clarice Starling, new to the job, navigates the line of detention units arriving at the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. He is positioned, appearing as an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, chillingly static wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen until the moment he throws himself against the glass, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that real-life murderers are often very boring, with nothing resembling Hopkins' commanding screen presence.
Hopkins was hardly unrecognized when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but a legend was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his rigorously precise drama teacher Christopher Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a sore point for Anthony, who further explains how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and drinking.
Anthony Hopkins as a toddler on the beach in 1941.
The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a baker and man's man, a plain speaker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and refused to showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the way they had to go cap-in-hand to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and could get young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”
The grovelling paid off, for a time. He was a poor student in his new institution. However, one day in an English lesson he had to recite the poem by Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other students. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, went into acting, and shocking his family, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then there were grants to go to Rada – a path to success for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and wept openly.
As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he preferred to the stage. And he quit booze in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.
In the later sections of the memoir he appears more reserved, more deliberate. A few tales fall a bit flat. He recalls having lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Really?
He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it's your duty to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Indeed. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”
Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply