We Did OK, Kid: A Memoir by Anthony Hopkins – Insights: An Icon Known for His Fiery Nature
It stands as the most memorable introduction in cinematic history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.
The FBI trainee, just starting out, must walk a corridor of cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, with features like a living skull filled with sinister intent, chillingly static wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen before suddenly he propels himself against the glass, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that genuine criminals are often very boring, far from Hopkins' captivating film persona.
He was not a newcomer when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his icily exacting drama teacher his mentor Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a sore point for Anthony, who also describes how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union during the 60s to his first wife, who resented his absences and his drinking habits.
A young Hopkins at three years old on Aberavon beach.
The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who despised the religious hypocrites of the chapel and avoided displaying emotion, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented how they were forced humbly to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”
The grovelling paid off, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. But one day in an English lesson he was required to perform the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He convincingly states that poems, alone, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days there were grants for drama school – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and wept openly.
As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but lucked into an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, that he favored over theater. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.
During the second part of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He recalls going out for lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Really?
He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains you must to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Quite so. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”
Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply
