Anthony Hopkins' Memoir: We Did OK, Kid – Analysis: An Icon with a Temper
Widely regarded as the greatest entrance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.
Clarice Starling, a rookie, navigates a row of prison cells arriving at Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, his face resembling a living skull exuding demonic evil, chillingly static clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen until the moment he propels himself against the glass, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that real-life murderers are often very boring, far from the actor's captivating film persona.
Hopkins was hardly an unknown at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was forged. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his rigorously precise drama teacher Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a painful subject for the actor, who further explains how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked his time away and drinking.
A young Hopkins at three years old on Aberavon beach.
The book's name comes from an historical picture of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a baker and man's man, a plain speaker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and refused to displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked the way they had to go humbly to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”
The humility worked, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. But one day in an English lesson he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He convincingly states that poems, alone, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time financial aid was available to go to Rada – an opportunity for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and burst into tears.
As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but lucked into a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he preferred over theater. And he quit booze during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.
In the later sections of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He mentions going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Is that so?
He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it is one's responsibility to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Absolutely. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”
Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply
