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

Widely regarded as the greatest introduction in film history – and he remains completely still.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, navigates a row of prison cells arriving at the notorious doctor's transparent prison. There he stands, his face resembling a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, chillingly static wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless before suddenly he throws himself toward the window, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since shown that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He was not an unknown upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but a legend emerged. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his icily exacting Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a sore point for the actor, who also describes how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 to his first wife, who resented him being away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and refused to expressing his feelings, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented how they were forced begging to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. But one day in a literature class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time there were grants to go to Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but stumbled upon a great TV role playing an alleged 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 movies, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He recalls having lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Truly?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Quite so. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply