Anthony Hopkins' Memoir: We Did OK, Kid – Insights: A Legend with a Temper
It stands as the most iconic introduction in film history – and he remains utterly motionless.
Clarice Starling, a rookie, proceeds down a row of prison cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. The man is present, his face resembling a living skull filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move until the moment he propels himself against the glass, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since shown that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Hopkins' commanding screen presence.
Hopkins was hardly an unknown at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was forged. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his strictly demanding drama teacher his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a painful subject for the actor, who recounts how his Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and drinking.
A young Hopkins at three years old on Aberavon beach.
The title originates from an historical picture of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who loathed the religious hypocrites of the chapel and avoided expressing his feelings, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who was angered by the way they had to go begging to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”
The grovelling paid off, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. However, one day in a literature class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other students. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, started his career. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated without much hope, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was on stage with the great Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days financial aid was available to go to Rada – an opportunity for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and began crying.
Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but stumbled upon a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, that he favored over theater. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it through midlife to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.
In the later sections of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more studied. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He remembers being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Truly?
He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it's your duty to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Indeed. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”
Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply