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

Many consider it the most memorable introduction in cinematic history – and he remains completely still.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, navigates the line of detention units arriving at the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, his face resembling a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, chillingly static wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen until the moment he propels himself against the glass, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling the actor's commanding screen presence.

He was not an unknown at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film back in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and on his own strictly demanding acting coach Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who also describes how his King Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked his absences and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and refused to displaying emotion, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who furiously resented how they were forced begging to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. However, one day in a literature class he had to recite John Masefield's poem The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then there were grants to go to Rada – an opportunity for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but lucked into a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, that he favored to the stage. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He remembers having lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who believes it's your duty to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Indeed. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply