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

It stands as the greatest entrance in movie lore – while he stands without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, proceeds down the line of detention units until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, his face resembling a living skull exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move right up until he throws himself at the barrier, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling the actor's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller in 1989: a star wasn't born, but a legend was forged. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own icily exacting drama teacher his instructor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a sore point for Hopkins, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage in 1966 to his first wife, who was angered by him being away and drinking.

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 boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a baker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and refused to displaying emotion, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who was angered by the way they had to go humbly to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. Then, during during an English class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days there were grants to attend Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but lucked into a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, that he favored over theater. He gave up alcohol in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the book he appears more reserved, more studied. A few tales fall a bit flat. He remembers going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it is one's responsibility to get there on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Indeed. But he also recounts facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply