Exploring Anthony Hopkins' Autobiography We Did OK, Kid – Analysis: A Legend Known for His Fiery Nature
It stands as the most iconic appearance in cinematic history – and he remains completely still.
Clarice Starling, just starting out, must walk the line of detention units until she reaches the notorious doctor's transparent prison. The man is present, his face resembling an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move until the moment he lunges toward the window, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless real-crime films have since shown that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, far from the actor's captivating film persona.
Hopkins was hardly a newcomer at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film back in 1989: he was already established, instead, a superstar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and also from his icily exacting Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a difficult topic for the actor, who also describes how his Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and his drinking habits.
A young Hopkins at three years old on Aberavon beach.
The title originates from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a baker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and refused to showing his emotions, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who furiously resented how they were forced humbly to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”
The humility worked, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. However, one day in a literature class he had to recite the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other students. He convincingly states that poems, alone, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days there were grants to attend Rada – a path to success 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, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and began crying.
Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but lucked into a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, which he preferred over theater. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.
During the second part of the memoir he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He mentions having lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Is that so?
He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains you must to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Indeed. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”
Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply