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

Many consider it the most iconic appearance in film history – yet the actor stays completely still.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, proceeds down the line of detention units finally encountering Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, with features like a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, chillingly static wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless until the moment he lunges at the barrier, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since shown that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly an unknown when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: he was already established, instead, a superstar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his icily exacting drama teacher his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who also describes how his King Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and drinking.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and refused to showing his emotions, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked how they were forced humbly to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” 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. However, one day in an English lesson he was required to perform John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He convincingly states that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, went into acting, and shocking his family, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time there were grants for drama school – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but lucked into a great TV role 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 luminous film journey in cinema, that he favored compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He mentions going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Really?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who believes it's your duty to get there on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Quite so. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply