Anthony Hopkins' Memoir: We Did OK, Kid – Review: A Legend with a Temper
Widely regarded as the most memorable entrance in film history – and he remains completely still.
Clarice Starling, a rookie, navigates a row of prison cells arriving at the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. There he stands, appearing as an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, chillingly static clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless before suddenly he throws himself toward the window, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous real-crime films have since demonstrated that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Hopkins' captivating film persona.
He was not unrecognized upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: he was already established, but rather a megastar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his rigorously precise Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a difficult topic for Anthony, who further explains how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who disliked him being away and drinking.
Hopkins in 1941, aged three, on Aberavon beach.
The title originates from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a baker and man's man, a straightforward talker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and refused to displaying emotion, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who furiously resented how they were forced begging to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”
The humility worked, for a time. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. But one day during an English class he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, propelled him forward. 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 with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then there were grants to go to Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and burst into tears.
Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, 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 back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.
In the latter half of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He mentions being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Really?
He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it is one's responsibility to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Indeed. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”
Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply