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

Widely regarded as the most iconic entrance in movie lore – while he stands utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, must walk the line of detention units arriving at Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, his face resembling an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move until the moment he propels himself toward the window, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, far from the actor's commanding screen presence.

He was not a newcomer upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: he was already established, instead, a superstar emerged. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and on his own rigorously precise drama teacher his instructor Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a painful subject for Anthony, who also describes how his King Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked his time away and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and avoided displaying emotion, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who furiously resented the necessity of going humbly to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. He was a poor student at his new school. But one day during an English class he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, went into acting, and shocking his family, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then financial aid was available to go to Rada – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but fortunately found a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he liked more over theater. And he quit booze in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more studied. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He mentions going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for him to absorb something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it's your duty to be on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Indeed. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply