Exploring Anthony Hopkins' Autobiography We Did OK, Kid – Insights: A Legend with a Temper
It stands as the most iconic appearance in movie lore – while he stands completely still.
A young FBI agent, a rookie, navigates a corridor of cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. There he stands, with features like a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless until the moment he lunges at the barrier, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, far from Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.
He was not a newcomer upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar emerged. His Dr. Lecter was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own rigorously precise Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a sore point for Hopkins, who also describes how his Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and drinking.
Hopkins in 1941, aged three, on Aberavon beach.
The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a pastry chef and man's man, a direct communicator who detested the religious hypocrites of the chapel and avoided showing his emotions, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who was angered by how they were forced humbly to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”
The humility worked, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. But one day during an English class he had to recite John Masefield's poem The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time there were grants for drama school – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and wept openly.
As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but stumbled upon a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, which he liked more to the stage. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived through midlife to execute great performances, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his second Oscar.
In the latter half of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more deliberate. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He remembers going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Really?
He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it is one's responsibility to be on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Quite so. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”
Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply