Anthony Hopkins' Memoir: We Did OK, Kid – Review: A Legend Known for His Fiery Nature
Widely regarded as the greatest entrance in movie lore – while he stands utterly motionless.
A young FBI agent, new to the job, proceeds down a row of prison cells arriving at Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, his face resembling an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move before suddenly he throws himself at the barrier, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.
Hopkins was hardly unrecognized upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar emerged. His Dr. Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own icily exacting drama teacher Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a sore point for Hopkins, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and his drinking habits.
A young Hopkins at three years old on Aberavon beach.
The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a baker and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who despised the religious hypocrites in their community and refused to expressing his feelings, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who was angered by the necessity of going humbly to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”
The grovelling paid off, temporarily. He was a poor student in his new institution. Then, during during an English class he had to recite the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, launched him. 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 on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days there were grants to attend Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and wept openly.
Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but lucked into a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, which he preferred to the stage. He gave up alcohol in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his second Oscar.
In the latter half of the book his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He recalls going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Truly?
He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who believes you must to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Quite so. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”
He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply
