Anthony Hopkins' Memoir: We Did OK, Kid – Analysis: A Legend with a Temper

Widely regarded as the most iconic introduction in film history – and he remains completely still.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, must walk the line of detention units finally encountering Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, appearing as an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, chillingly static in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless before suddenly he lunges at the barrier, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of real-crime films have since revealed that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, far from Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar emerged. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his rigorously precise drama teacher his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a painful subject for Hopkins, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a bread-maker and man's man, a direct communicator who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and refused to displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who furiously resented how they were forced begging to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and could get the young Anthony into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. However, one day in an English lesson he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He convincingly states that poems, alone, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days scholarships existed for drama school – a path to success for working-class actors. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into middle age to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more calculated. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He remembers going out for lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Truly?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it's your duty to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Indeed. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply