We Did OK, Kid: A Memoir by Anthony Hopkins – Analysis: A Legend with a Temper
Many consider it the most iconic introduction in movie lore – while he stands utterly motionless.
Clarice Starling, just starting out, must walk the line of detention units until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, his face resembling a living skull filled with sinister intent, chillingly static wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen before suddenly he throws himself toward the window, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous real-crime films have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling Hopkins' commanding screen presence.
Hopkins was hardly a newcomer when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film in 1989: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar emerged. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and also from his rigorously precise drama teacher his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a difficult topic for the actor, who also describes how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 to his first wife, who was angered by his absences 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 playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and didn't believe in showing his emotions, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked the necessity of going humbly to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”
The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. However, one day in an English lesson he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days financial aid was available for drama school – an opportunity for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and began crying.
Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, which he liked more over theater. He stopped drinking back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his second Oscar.
In the latter half of the book he appears more reserved, more deliberate. A few tales fall a bit flat. He remembers being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Really?
He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Indeed. But he also recounts facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”
He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply
