Anthony Hopkins' Memoir: We Did OK, Kid – Review: An Icon Known for His Fiery Nature
It stands as the most memorable appearance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.
The FBI trainee, new to the job, proceeds down the line of detention units until she reaches Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. He is positioned, his face resembling a living skull radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen right up until he propels himself against the glass, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless real-crime films have since revealed that real-life murderers are often very boring, with nothing resembling the actor's captivating film persona.
Hopkins was hardly a newcomer when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: he was already established, but a legend emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his strictly demanding drama teacher his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a difficult topic for Anthony, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked his time away and his alcohol use.
A young Hopkins at three years old on Aberavon beach.
The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and avoided expressing his feelings, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who deeply disliked the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and could get young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”
The pleading was effective, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. Then, during in an English lesson he was required to perform the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time there were grants for drama school – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and wept openly.
Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but stumbled upon a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, that he favored to the stage. And he quit booze in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived through midlife to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.
In the latter half of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more calculated. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He mentions having lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Truly?
He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains you must to get there on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Indeed. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”
Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply