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

It stands as the most memorable introduction in film history – and he remains completely still.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, navigates a row of prison cells until she reaches Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, appearing as a living skull exuding demonic evil, chillingly static clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move until the moment he lunges against the glass, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was cemented. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his icily exacting Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a painful subject for Anthony, who recounts how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and drinking.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a bread-maker and man's man, a straightforward talker who detested the religious hypocrites at the church and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the necessity of going begging to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. But one day during an English class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then there were grants for drama school – a path to success for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but lucked into a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, that he favored over theater. He gave up alcohol in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into middle age to execute great performances, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more studied. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He recalls being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes you must to be on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Quite so. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply