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

It stands as the greatest introduction in cinematic history – and he remains utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, navigates a corridor of cells arriving at the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. The man is present, with features like a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless before suddenly he propels himself toward the window, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of real-crime films have since demonstrated that genuine criminals are often very boring, with nothing resembling the actor's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his strictly demanding drama teacher his mentor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a painful subject for Anthony, who recounts how his King Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a direct communicator who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and avoided expressing his feelings, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked the necessity of going cap-in-hand to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and could get the young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts 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. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. But one day during an English class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was performing with the great Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then scholarships existed to go to Rada – a way up for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but fortunately found an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, that he favored compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into his later years to execute great performances, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of the memoir he appears more reserved, more calculated. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He recalls going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Is that so?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it is one's responsibility to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Absolutely. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply