Exploring Anthony Hopkins' Autobiography We Did OK, Kid – Analysis: A Legend with a Temper
Widely regarded as the most memorable appearance in film history – and he remains completely still.
The FBI trainee, just starting out, proceeds down the line of detention units arriving at Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, with features like a living skull exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen until the moment he propels himself at the barrier, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless real-crime films have since shown that real-life murderers are often very boring, far from the actor's commanding screen presence.
He was not an unknown upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was forged. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, as well as his strictly demanding drama teacher his mentor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a sore point for Anthony, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and his drinking habits.
Hopkins in 1941, aged three, on Aberavon beach.
The book's name comes from an historical picture of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a plain speaker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who furiously resented the way they had to go cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into an elite 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, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. However, one day in an English lesson he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated without much hope, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was acting with the great Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days there were grants for drama school – an opportunity for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and began crying.
As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but fortunately found a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he liked more to the stage. He gave up alcohol in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.
During the second part of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He mentions having lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. He tends to concur with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Truly?
He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains you must to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and do the job. Absolutely. But he also recounts facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. An actor of his caliber must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”
He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply
