We Did OK, Kid: A Memoir by Anthony Hopkins – Insights: A Legend with a Temper

It stands as the most memorable appearance in film history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, navigates a row of prison cells arriving at Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, with features like a living skull filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless before suddenly he lunges at the barrier, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since revealed that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not a newcomer upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his icily exacting drama teacher his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a sore point for Hopkins, who recounts how his King Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage back in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked his absences and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and refused to displaying emotion, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who deeply disliked the necessity of going cap-in-hand to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. But one day in a literature class he had to recite the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He convincingly states that poems, alone, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days financial aid was available for drama school – a way up for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, which he liked more over theater. He stopped drinking back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. A few tales fall a bit flat. He recalls going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for him to absorb something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Really?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks you must to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Quite so. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply