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

Many consider it the most iconic appearance in film history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, must walk a row of prison cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, with features like a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move right up until he propels himself toward the window, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since shown that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling the actor's captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was forged. His Dr. Lecter was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, as well as his strictly demanding acting coach his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who recounts how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked his time away and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and avoided displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who furiously resented the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. Then, during during an English class he had to recite John Masefield's poem The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days there were grants to go to Rada – a path to success for working-class actors. 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 went into another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but lucked into a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he liked more over theater. And he quit booze back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more calculated. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He remembers having lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Really?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it's your duty to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and do the job. Quite so. However, he also describes facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply