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

Widely regarded as the most memorable entrance in film history – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, proceeds down a row of prison cells arriving at Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, appearing as a living skull exuding demonic evil, chillingly static in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless before suddenly he throws himself against the glass, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous real-crime films have since shown that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and also from his rigorously precise acting coach his instructor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a sore point for the actor, who further explains how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a direct communicator who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and didn't believe in showing his emotions, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who furiously resented the necessity of going humbly to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. Then, during in a literature class he had to recite the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other students. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then scholarships existed to attend Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but fortunately found a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, which he preferred over theater. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He remembers having lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Indeed. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply