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

It stands as the greatest introduction in cinematic history – yet the actor stays completely still.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, must walk the line of detention units arriving at Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, his face resembling a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless before suddenly he throws himself at the barrier, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless real-crime films have since demonstrated that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He was not unrecognized when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: he was already established, but a legend was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and also from his rigorously precise Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a painful subject for Anthony, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who disliked him being away and drinking.

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 would never do OK. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who loathed the religious hypocrites in their community and refused to displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who was angered by the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. He was a poor student in his new institution. Then, during in a literature class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then scholarships existed to go to Rada – a way up for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but lucked into 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 on screen, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into his later years to execute great performances, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He remembers going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Is that so?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks you must to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Absolutely. But he also recounts facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply