Exploring Anthony Hopkins' Autobiography We Did OK, Kid – Analysis: An Icon with a Temper
It stands as the greatest appearance in film history – and he remains without moving a muscle.
Clarice Starling, new to the job, must walk a row of prison cells until she reaches the notorious doctor's transparent prison. He is positioned, with features like an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move before suddenly he lunges toward the window, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous real-crime films have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are often very boring, with nothing resembling the actor's captivating film persona.
He was not an unknown when he landed that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar emerged. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his rigorously precise drama teacher his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and drinking.
A young Hopkins at three years old on Aberavon beach.
The title originates from an historical picture 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 raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and avoided displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked the way they had to go humbly to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”
The grovelling paid off, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. However, one day during an English class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days scholarships existed for drama school – an opportunity for working-class actors. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and wept openly.
Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he liked more compared to stage acting. And he quit booze back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into his later years to execute great performances, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.
During the second part of the memoir he appears more reserved, more studied. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He recalls having lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Really?
He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes you must to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Quite so. But he also recounts facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”
He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply
