Anthony Hopkins' Memoir: We Did OK, Kid – Insights: A Legend with a Temper
Widely regarded as the most iconic entrance in movie lore – while he stands completely still.
A young FBI agent, just starting out, navigates a corridor of cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's transparent prison. The man is present, appearing as a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless before suddenly he lunges toward the window, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since revealed that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, far from the actor's captivating film persona.
He was not an unknown when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: he was already established, but a legend emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own rigorously precise acting coach Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a painful subject for Hopkins, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and drinking.
Hopkins in 1941, aged three, on Aberavon beach.
The title originates from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a baker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented how they were forced cap-in-hand to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”
The pleading was effective, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. But one day in an English lesson he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time financial aid was available for drama school – a way up for working-class actors. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and wept openly.
As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, that he favored to the stage. He stopped drinking back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.
In the latter half of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. A few tales fall a bit flat. He remembers having lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Really?
He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it's your duty to get there on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Absolutely. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol 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! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”
Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply
