We Did OK, Kid: A Memoir by Anthony Hopkins – Review: A Legend with a Temper

Widely regarded as the most memorable appearance in film history – while he stands utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, must walk a row of prison cells arriving at the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, with features like an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, chillingly static in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move before suddenly he throws himself toward the window, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, far from Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly an unknown upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: he was already established, but rather a megastar was forged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and on his own icily exacting Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a sore point for the actor, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a pastry chef and man's man, a direct communicator who detested the religious hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the way they had to go begging to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. But one day in a literature class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time scholarships existed for drama school – an opportunity for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into middle age to execute great performances, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He recalls having lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who believes you must to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Quite so. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply