Anthony Hopkins' Memoir: We Did OK, Kid – Insights: An Icon Known for His Fiery Nature
It stands as the most memorable appearance in film history – while he stands without moving a muscle.
A young FBI agent, a rookie, navigates a row of prison cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, appearing as an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless right up until he lunges toward the window, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since revealed that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.
He wasn't exactly an unknown when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his rigorously precise drama teacher his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a sore point for Anthony, who further explains how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by 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 playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who despised the religious hypocrites at the church and didn't believe in displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who was angered by the necessity of going cap-in-hand to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”
The grovelling paid off, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. But one day in a literature class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He convincingly states that poems, alone, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time financial aid was available to go to Rada – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and burst into tears.
Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but stumbled upon an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, which he liked more over theater. He stopped drinking back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.
During the second part of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He remembers going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Is that so?
He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it is one's responsibility to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Absolutely. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”
Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply
