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

Widely regarded as the most iconic appearance in movie lore – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, must walk a row of prison cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. He is positioned, with features like an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless before suddenly he throws himself against the glass, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless real-crime films have since demonstrated that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own strictly demanding Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a difficult topic for Anthony, who recounts how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 to his first wife, who resented his time away and drinking.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a baker and man's man, a straightforward talker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked the necessity of going humbly to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. Then, during in an English lesson he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, started his career. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days scholarships existed to go to Rada – a path to success for working-class actors. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but lucked into an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, that he favored to the stage. And he quit booze during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He remembers going out for lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Really?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes you must to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Indeed. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from 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