Anthony Hopkins' Memoir: We Did OK, Kid – Review: An Icon with a Temper
It stands as the greatest entrance in movie lore – and he remains utterly motionless.
A young FBI agent, a rookie, proceeds down a row of prison cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's transparent prison. There he stands, his face resembling an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, chillingly static wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless before suddenly he throws himself against the glass, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since revealed that real-life murderers are often very boring, far from the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.
He was not an unknown upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller in 1989: he was already established, but a legend emerged. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, as well as his rigorously precise acting coach his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a painful subject for the actor, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and his alcohol use.
A young Hopkins at three years old on Aberavon beach.
The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a baker and man's man, a plain speaker who detested the religious hypocrites at the church and refused to showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who was angered by the necessity of going begging to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”
The pleading was effective, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. However, one day during an English class he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He convincingly states that poems, alone, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time scholarships existed to go to Rada – an opportunity for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.
Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, that he favored over theater. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.
During the second part of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He remembers going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Is that so?
He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains you must to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Absolutely. But he also recounts facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”
He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply
