Exploring Anthony Hopkins' Autobiography We Did OK, Kid – Review: An Icon with a Temper

Many consider it the most iconic entrance in movie lore – and he remains without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, must walk a corridor of cells arriving at Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, with features like a living skull radiating satanic malice, chillingly static clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen until the moment he lunges against the glass, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, far from Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller in 1989: a star wasn't born, but a legend was forged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, as well as his strictly demanding Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a sore point for the actor, who recounts how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked his time away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a baker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and refused to displaying emotion, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who furiously resented the necessity of going humbly to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. He was a poor student at his new school. However, one day in a literature class he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other students. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days scholarships existed to go to Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but fortunately found a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, that he favored compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into middle age to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more studied. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He recalls having lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Is that so?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it's your duty to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and do the job. Absolutely. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. An actor of his caliber must know 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!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply