We Did OK, Kid: A Memoir by Anthony Hopkins – Analysis: An Icon with a Temper

It stands as the greatest appearance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, navigates the line of detention units until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. He is positioned, with features like an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move before suddenly he propels himself at the barrier, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He was not an unknown when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film back in 1989: he was already established, but a legend was forged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and on his own icily exacting Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a sore point for Hopkins, who recounts how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a baker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and avoided expressing his feelings, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who was angered by how they were forced cap-in-hand to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. But one day in an English lesson he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days scholarships existed for drama school – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he preferred compared to stage acting. And he quit booze in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into his later years to execute great performances, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He recalls having lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Truly?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Indeed. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. An actor of his caliber is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall from 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