We Did OK, Kid: A Memoir by Anthony Hopkins – Insights: An Icon Known for His Fiery Nature

Many consider it the most memorable entrance in film history – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, proceeds down a corridor of cells arriving at the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, his face resembling a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move right up until he lunges against the glass, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since revealed that real-life murderers are often very boring, with nothing resembling Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: he was already established, instead, a superstar was forged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and also from his strictly demanding Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a difficult topic for Anthony, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and drinking.
Hopkins in his early years
A young Hopkins at three years old on Aberavon beach.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a baker and man's man, a plain speaker who despised the religious hypocrites at the church and avoided expressing his feelings, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who furiously resented how they were forced humbly to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. But one day in an English lesson he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was acting with the great Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then scholarships existed for drama school – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but fortunately found a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he preferred over theater. And he quit booze during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and so survived into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He remembers being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it's your duty to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Absolutely. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply
Tyler Gray
Tyler Gray

Passionate gamer and writer exploring game mechanics and storytelling since 2015.