We Did OK, Kid: A Memoir by Anthony Hopkins – Analysis: A Legend with a Temper
Many consider it the most memorable appearance in film history – while he stands completely still.
Clarice Starling, just starting out, proceeds down a corridor of cells finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, his face resembling a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless right up until he throws himself against the glass, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless real-crime films have since demonstrated that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, far from Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.
He was not an unknown upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and on his own icily exacting acting coach Christopher Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a sore point for the actor, who also describes how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt 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 his alcohol use.
A young Hopkins at three years old on Aberavon beach.
The title originates from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a baker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who despised the religious hypocrites in their community and refused to showing his emotions, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who was angered by how they were forced humbly to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”
The pleading was effective, for a time. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. Then, during in a literature class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time there were grants for drama school – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and burst into tears.
As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but lucked into a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, that he favored over theater. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his second Academy Award.
In the later sections of the memoir he appears more reserved, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He recalls being taken out to lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Really?
He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it is one's responsibility to be on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Absolutely. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way 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. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”
Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply
