We Did OK, Kid: A Memoir by Anthony Hopkins – Review: An Icon with a Temper
Widely regarded as the greatest appearance in cinematic history – and he remains without moving a muscle.
A young FBI agent, just starting out, navigates a corridor of cells until she reaches the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, with features like a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move until the moment he throws himself against the glass, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that actual serial killers are often very boring, lacking anything like Hopkins' captivating film persona.
He wasn't exactly an unknown upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was forged. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and also from his icily exacting Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a painful subject for the actor, who also describes how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and drinking.
A young Hopkins at three years old on Aberavon beach.
The title originates from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and didn't believe in showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the way they had to go cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and could get young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”
The humility worked, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. Then, during in a literature class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days scholarships existed to attend Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and began crying.
Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – 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 luminous film journey in movies, that he favored over theater. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived through midlife to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.
During the second part of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He remembers having lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Really?
He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes you must to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Absolutely. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”
He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply
