Anthony Hopkins' Memoir: We Did OK, Kid – Insights: An Icon with a Temper

Many consider it the most iconic introduction in movie lore – while he stands without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, proceeds down a row of prison cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, his face resembling a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, chillingly static wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen until the moment he throws himself at the barrier, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, far from Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his strictly demanding Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a difficult topic for Anthony, who further explains how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who disliked his time away and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a baker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who detested the religious hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the necessity of going begging to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. However, one day in a literature class he had to recite the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, started his career. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days financial aid was available to attend Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but lucked into a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, that he favored to the stage. And he quit booze in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He recalls having lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who believes you must to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Indeed. However, he also describes facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply