We Did OK, Kid: A Memoir by Anthony Hopkins – Analysis: A Legend with a Temper
Widely regarded as the most memorable entrance in film history – and he remains utterly motionless.
A young FBI agent, a rookie, navigates the line of detention units arriving at Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. He is positioned, with features like a living skull radiating satanic malice, chillingly static clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen before suddenly he lunges toward the window, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since shown that actual serial killers are often very boring, far from the actor's captivating film persona.
He was not unrecognized upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, as well as his rigorously precise drama teacher his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who also describes how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented him being 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 child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a baker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who loathed the religious hypocrites of the chapel and refused to showing his emotions, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked the necessity of going cap-in-hand to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”
The grovelling paid off, temporarily. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. Then, during during an English class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated without much hope, went into acting, and shocking his family, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days there were grants for drama school – a path to success for working-class actors. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and began crying.
Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but stumbled upon a great TV role as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, that he favored to the stage. He stopped drinking back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his next Oscar win.
In the later sections of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more calculated. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He recalls being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Really?
He often portrays 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 proceed with the work. Indeed. But he also recounts facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”
He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply