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

It stands as the most memorable entrance in cinematic history – and he remains without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, must walk a row of prison cells until she reaches Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, his face resembling a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless right up until he lunges toward the window, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since shown that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, far from Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was forged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his icily exacting drama teacher his mentor Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a sore point for Anthony, who further explains how his King Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a bread-maker and man's man, a plain speaker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who deeply disliked the necessity of going humbly to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. However, one day in a literature class he had to recite the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, went into acting, and shocking his family, was performing with the great Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time scholarships existed to attend Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but stumbled upon a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, that he favored over theater. He stopped drinking back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He recalls having lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Really?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains you must to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Absolutely. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply