Anthony Hopkins' Memoir: We Did OK, Kid – Review: A Legend Known for His Fiery Nature

It stands as the most iconic entrance in film history – and he remains utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, must walk a corridor of cells arriving at Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. The man is present, with features like an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move until the moment he propels himself at the barrier, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous real-crime films have since revealed that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, far from Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: he was already established, instead, a superstar emerged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and also from his icily exacting Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a painful subject for Hopkins, who further explains how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a pastry chef and man's man, a plain speaker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. But one day in an English lesson he was required to perform John Masefield's poem The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was acting with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time there were grants to go to Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but stumbled upon a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, which he preferred to the stage. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He mentions having lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Truly?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who thinks it's your duty to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Indeed. However, he also describes facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply