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

Many consider it the greatest appearance in film history – yet the actor stays completely still.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, navigates a corridor of cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's transparent prison. The man is present, appearing as a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, chillingly static in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move before suddenly he propels himself against the glass, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are often very boring, far from the actor's captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly an unknown at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: he was already established, instead, a superstar emerged. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his icily exacting Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a sore point for the actor, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and avoided displaying emotion, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the necessity of going begging to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. He was a poor student in his new institution. However, one day in a literature class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated without much hope, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then scholarships existed for drama school – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but lucked into a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, that he favored compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He recalls being taken out to lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who maintains you must to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Quite so. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply