We Did OK, Kid: A Memoir by Anthony Hopkins – Review: An Icon with a Temper
Many consider it the most iconic appearance in movie lore – while he stands without moving a muscle.
Clarice Starling, new to the job, must walk a corridor of cells until she reaches Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. He is positioned, with features like a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless right up until he propels himself against the glass, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since shown that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, far from Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.
He was not unrecognized when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but a legend emerged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his rigorously precise acting coach Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a painful subject for Hopkins, who also describes how his King Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and drinking.
Hopkins in 1941, aged three, on Aberavon beach.
The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who deeply disliked the necessity of going begging to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”
The pleading was effective, for a while. He was a poor student in his new institution. But one day in an English lesson he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, went into acting, and shocking his family, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then scholarships existed to go to Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: 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 wept openly.
Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he preferred compared to stage acting. And he quit booze in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.
During the second part of the book he appears more reserved, more calculated. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He mentions having lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Truly?
He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it is one's responsibility to get there on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Quite so. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”
He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply