Exploring Anthony Hopkins' Autobiography We Did OK, Kid – Insights: An Icon Known for His Fiery Nature
Many consider it the most memorable entrance in cinematic history – and he remains completely still.
A young FBI agent, just starting out, navigates the line of detention units arriving at the notorious doctor's transparent prison. He is positioned, with features like a living skull radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move until the moment he lunges against the glass, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since shown that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, far from the actor's captivating film persona.
He was not an unknown when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his strictly demanding Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a sore point for Anthony, who further explains how his Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 to his first wife, who resented his time away and his alcohol use.
Hopkins in 1941, aged three, on Aberavon beach.
The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a direct communicator who despised the religious hypocrites of the chapel and refused to displaying emotion, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented how they were forced cap-in-hand to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”
The pleading was effective, for a while. He was a poor student at his new school. Then, during in an English lesson he was required to perform John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He convincingly states that poems, alone, launched him. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then financial aid was available to go to Rada – a path to success for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and began crying.
Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he liked more over theater. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.
In the later sections of the memoir he appears more reserved, more studied. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He mentions going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Truly?
He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it is one's responsibility to be on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Absolutely. But he also recounts facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”
He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply