Anthony Hopkins' Memoir: We Did OK, Kid – Review: A Legend with a Temper

Widely regarded as the most memorable introduction in film history – and he remains without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, navigates a corridor of cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, his face resembling a living skull radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move before suddenly he lunges toward the window, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of real-crime films have since demonstrated that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, as well as his icily exacting Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a difficult topic for the actor, who also describes how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union during the 60s to his first wife, who resented his time away and drinking.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a baker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and refused to displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who deeply disliked the necessity of going humbly to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. He was a poor student in his new institution. Then, during during an English class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated without much hope, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time scholarships existed for drama school – a path to success for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but lucked into a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more studied. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He remembers being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Really?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it is one's responsibility to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Absolutely. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply