Exploring Anthony Hopkins' Autobiography We Did OK, Kid – Insights: An Icon with a Temper
Many consider it the most iconic appearance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.
Clarice Starling, just starting out, navigates the line of detention units until she reaches Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, with features like an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen before suddenly he propels himself against the glass, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous real-crime films have since demonstrated that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.
He was not an unknown when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own rigorously precise Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a painful subject for the actor, who further explains how his Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and his alcohol use.
A young Hopkins at three years old on Aberavon beach.
The book's name comes from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a baker and man's man, a plain speaker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and refused to showing his emotions, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the way they had to go cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”
The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. Then, during in an English lesson he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days financial aid was available to attend Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and wept openly.
As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but stumbled upon an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, which he liked more over theater. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.
In the later sections of the book he appears more reserved, more studied. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He remembers having lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Really?
He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who thinks it is one's responsibility to get there on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Quite so. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “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! He appears to be someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”
He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply