Anthony Hopkins' Memoir: We Did OK, Kid – Analysis: An Icon with a Temper

It stands as the most iconic introduction in cinematic history – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, proceeds down the line of detention units until she reaches Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, his face resembling a living skull radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen before suddenly he throws himself at the barrier, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless real-crime films have since shown that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling the actor's commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: he was already established, but a legend emerged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and also from his icily exacting drama teacher Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a sore point for Hopkins, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who disliked him being away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a baker and man's man, a straightforward talker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and avoided expressing his feelings, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked the way they had to go begging to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. Then, during in an English lesson he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days financial aid was available to attend Rada – a path to success for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived into middle age to execute great performances, including Lecter, the steward 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.

In the latter half of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more studied. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He mentions being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Is that so?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains you must to be on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Indeed. However, he also describes facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply