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

Widely regarded as the most iconic appearance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, proceeds down the line of detention units until she reaches Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. He is positioned, appearing as a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, chillingly static clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless before suddenly he lunges against the glass, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: he was already established, instead, a superstar emerged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and on his own strictly demanding Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a sore point for Anthony, who recounts how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a baker and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who detested the religious hypocrites in their community and refused to expressing his feelings, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, temporarily. He was a poor student at his new school. But one day in an English lesson he had to recite the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days scholarships existed to go to Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but stumbled upon a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, that he favored to the stage. He stopped drinking in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of the memoir he appears more reserved, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He mentions going out for lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Truly?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it's your duty to be on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Quite so. However, he also describes facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply