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

Many consider it the most iconic entrance in film history – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, proceeds down a row of prison cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, his face resembling an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move before suddenly he lunges toward the window, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless real-crime films have since revealed that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, far from Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but a legend emerged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his rigorously precise drama teacher his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a difficult topic for Anthony, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who was angered by him being away and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a pastry chef and man's man, a plain speaker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the necessity of going humbly to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. But one day in an English lesson he was required to perform John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time there were grants to attend Rada – a path to success for working-class actors. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but fortunately found an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, which he preferred over theater. He stopped drinking in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived into middle age to execute great performances, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He recalls having lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who believes you must to be on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Absolutely. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply