Exploring Anthony Hopkins' Autobiography We Did OK, Kid – Review: A Legend with a Temper
Widely regarded as the greatest introduction in cinematic history – while he stands without moving a muscle.
The FBI trainee, just starting out, proceeds down a corridor of cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. There he stands, appearing as an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen until the moment he throws himself at the barrier, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are often very boring, 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 during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, as well as his strictly demanding acting coach his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a sore point for Anthony, who recounts how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union in 1966 to his first wife, who resented his time away and his drinking habits.
Anthony Hopkins as a toddler on the beach in 1941.
The title originates from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a pastry chef and man's man, a straightforward talker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and refused to expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who furiously resented the way they had to go begging to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”
The pleading was effective, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. However, one day during an English class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was performing with the great Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time there were grants for drama school – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and wept openly.
Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, that he favored to the stage. And he quit booze in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into middle age to execute great performances, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.
During the second part of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He mentions having lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for him to absorb something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not really. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Is that so?
He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains you must to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Indeed. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”
Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply