Anthony Hopkins' Memoir: We Did OK, Kid – Insights: A Legend Known for His Fiery Nature

Widely regarded as the greatest introduction in film history – while he stands completely still.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, navigates a row of prison cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, his face resembling a living skull filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless before suddenly he throws himself toward the window, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since revealed that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not an unknown when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller in 1989: a star wasn't born, but a legend emerged. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, as well as his strictly demanding acting coach his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a difficult topic for the actor, who recounts how his Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union in 1966 to his first wife, who resented him being away and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a pastry chef and man's man, a direct communicator who detested the religious hypocrites at the church and avoided showing his emotions, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the way they had to go cap-in-hand to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. He was a poor student at his new school. However, one day during an English class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days there were grants to go to Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a potential 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 luminous film journey in cinema, which he preferred to the stage. He stopped drinking in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He recalls going out for lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who believes it's your duty to be on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Absolutely. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply