Exploring Anthony Hopkins' Autobiography We Did OK, Kid – Analysis: An Icon with a Temper
Widely regarded as the greatest appearance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.
Clarice Starling, just starting out, navigates the line of detention units finally encountering the notorious doctor's transparent prison. The man is present, his face resembling an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move right up until he lunges toward the window, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since shown that actual serial killers are often very boring, lacking anything like the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.
He was not unrecognized when he landed that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: a star wasn't born, but a legend was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and on his own rigorously precise Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a sore point for the actor, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and his alcohol use.
Hopkins in 1941, aged three, on Aberavon beach.
The book's name comes from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who loathed the religious hypocrites at the church and avoided displaying emotion, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who deeply disliked the way they had to go cap-in-hand to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”
The pleading was effective, temporarily. He was a poor student at his new school. However, one day during an English class he had to recite the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, launched him. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then there were grants to go to Rada – a way up for working-class actors. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and burst into tears.
As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but fortunately found a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, that he favored to the stage. He stopped drinking in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.
In the latter half of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more calculated. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He remembers being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. He tends to concur with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Really?
He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it is one's responsibility to be on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Indeed. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. An actor of his caliber is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”
Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply