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

Many consider it the most memorable appearance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, proceeds down a corridor of cells arriving at the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. He is positioned, his face resembling a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, chillingly static wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless right up until he lunges toward the window, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless real-crime films have since demonstrated that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his icily exacting Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a difficult topic for the actor, who further explains how his King Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a pastry chef and man's man, a plain speaker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and avoided expressing his feelings, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented how they were forced cap-in-hand to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. However, one day in a literature class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then there were grants to go to Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of the memoir he appears more reserved, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He mentions having lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Really?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes you must to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Indeed. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply