We Did OK, Kid: A Memoir by Anthony Hopkins – Insights: An Icon Known for His Fiery Nature

Widely regarded as the greatest entrance in movie lore – and he remains utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, proceeds down a row of prison cells arriving at Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, appearing as a living skull filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move until the moment he lunges at the barrier, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are often very boring, far from the actor's captivating film persona.

He was not an unknown upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar emerged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own rigorously precise drama teacher his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who further explains how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and drinking.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who despised the religious hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who deeply disliked the way they had to go cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. But one day in a literature class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other students. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time there were grants to go to Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but lucked into a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, that he favored over theater. And he quit booze during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of the book he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He remembers being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for him to absorb something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it's your duty to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Indeed. However, he also describes 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! Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply