Exploring Anthony Hopkins' Autobiography We Did OK, Kid – Review: An Icon with a Temper

Many consider it the most iconic appearance in film history – yet the actor stays completely still.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, proceeds down a row of prison cells arriving at Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. He is positioned, appearing as a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless until the moment he throws himself at the barrier, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless real-crime films have since demonstrated that real-life murderers are often very boring, lacking anything like the actor's captivating film persona.

He was not a newcomer at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller in 1989: he was already established, instead, a superstar was cemented. The character of Hannibal drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own icily exacting Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a painful subject for Anthony, who recounts how his King Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked him being away and his alcohol use.
Hopkins in his early years
A young Hopkins at three years old on Aberavon beach.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a baker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who detested the religious hypocrites at the church and avoided showing his emotions, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the necessity of going begging to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. Then, during in an English lesson he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days scholarships existed to attend Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he liked more to the stage. And he quit booze back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He mentions going out for lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Really?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes you must to be on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Quite so. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply
Lisa White
Lisa White

Lena is a freelance journalist specializing in Dutch urban culture, history, and community stories. She has been reporting on Tilburg for over a decade.