Anthony Hopkins' Memoir: We Did OK, Kid – Insights: A Legend with a Temper
It stands as the greatest appearance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.
Clarice Starling, new to the job, must walk a row of prison cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. The man is present, his face resembling a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen until the moment he propels himself against the glass, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that genuine criminals are often very boring, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.
He wasn't exactly a newcomer when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film during the late 80s: he was already established, instead, a superstar emerged. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his rigorously precise drama teacher his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a painful subject for Anthony, who recounts how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked his time away and his drinking habits.
A young Hopkins at three years old on Aberavon beach.
The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a baker and man's man, a straightforward talker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and refused to showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the necessity of going humbly to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”
The pleading was effective, for a time. He was a poor student in his new institution. However, one day during an English class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days financial aid was available to go to Rada – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and began crying.
As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.
In the latter half of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He mentions being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Really?
He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who thinks it's your duty to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Indeed. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”
Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply
