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

Many consider it the most iconic appearance in movie lore – and he remains completely still.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, navigates a row of prison cells arriving at Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, appearing as an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless before suddenly he throws himself at the barrier, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since shown that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He was not a newcomer upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film back in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his icily exacting Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a sore point for the actor, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who disliked his time away and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a baker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and avoided showing his emotions, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. Then, during in a literature class he had to recite the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days scholarships existed to go to Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but lucked into an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, that he favored to the stage. He stopped drinking in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He remembers having lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell 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. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it's your duty to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Absolutely. However, he also describes facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply