We Did OK, Kid: A Memoir by Anthony Hopkins – Review: A Legend Known for His Fiery Nature
It stands as the greatest introduction in movie lore – and he remains utterly motionless.
Clarice Starling, new to the job, must walk a corridor of cells until she reaches Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. He is positioned, with features like an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, chillingly static clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless until the moment he propels himself at the barrier, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that real-life murderers are often very boring, with nothing resembling Hopkins' captivating film persona.
He wasn't exactly a newcomer at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was cemented. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and also from his rigorously precise Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a difficult topic for the actor, who recounts how his Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter 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 book's name comes from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a baker and man's man, a direct communicator who despised the religious hypocrites of the chapel and avoided showing his emotions, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked how they were forced humbly to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”
The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. However, one day in a literature class he had to recite the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other students. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time financial aid was available to attend Rada – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and wept openly.
Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but fortunately found a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.
In the latter half of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He recalls being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Really?
He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it's your duty to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Quite so. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”
He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply