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

It stands as the greatest introduction in film history – and he remains completely still.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, must walk a row of prison cells arriving at the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, his face resembling a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, chillingly static clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen right up until he propels himself toward the window, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly an unknown upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: he was already established, instead, a superstar emerged. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own rigorously precise drama teacher his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a painful subject for Anthony, who further explains how his Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a bread-maker and man's man, a direct communicator who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and refused to expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the way they had to go humbly to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. Then, during in a literature class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, went into acting, and shocking his family, was acting with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then there were grants to attend Rada – an opportunity for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he liked more to the stage. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He remembers being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Really?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes you must to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Absolutely. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply