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

Widely regarded as the greatest appearance in film history – and he remains utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, proceeds down the line of detention units until she reaches Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, appearing as an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen right up until he lunges toward the window, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since shown that actual serial killers are often very boring, lacking anything like the actor's captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: he was already established, but a legend was forged. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own strictly demanding acting coach his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a painful subject for Anthony, who also describes how his King Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to his first wife, who resented his absences and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a bread-maker and man's man, a straightforward talker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who was angered by the necessity of going humbly to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. Then, during in an English lesson he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then financial aid was available to attend Rada – an opportunity for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but stumbled upon a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, that he favored to the stage. And he quit booze back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He recalls having lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it is one's responsibility to be on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Indeed. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply