Anthony Hopkins' Memoir: We Did OK, Kid – Analysis: An Icon Known for His Fiery Nature

It stands as the most iconic introduction in movie lore – while he stands without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, must walk a row of prison cells arriving at Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. The man is present, his face resembling a living skull exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move right up until he throws himself against the glass, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, far from the actor's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film in 1989: a star wasn't born, but a legend emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and on his own icily exacting drama teacher his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a sore point for Hopkins, who further explains how his King Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to his first wife, who was angered by him being 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 kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a bread-maker and man's man, a direct communicator who detested the religious hypocrites at the church and didn't believe in showing his emotions, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. But one day during an English class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then financial aid was available for drama school – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but stumbled upon an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, which he preferred over theater. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into his later years to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He recalls being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it's your duty to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Indeed. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply