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

It stands as the greatest entrance in movie lore – yet the actor stays completely still.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, navigates a row of prison cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. He is positioned, his face resembling an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, chillingly static clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless until the moment he propels himself toward the window, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of real-crime films have since demonstrated that real-life murderers are often very boring, with nothing resembling Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was cemented. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his icily exacting Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a sore point for Anthony, who also describes how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and refused to displaying emotion, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented how they were forced cap-in-hand to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. But one day in an English lesson he had to recite John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was acting with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then there were grants to go to Rada – a path to success for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but fortunately found a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, that he favored over theater. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more studied. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He recalls having lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Really?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it is one's responsibility to get there on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Quite so. However, he also describes facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play 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