We Did OK, Kid: A Memoir by Anthony Hopkins – Analysis: A Legend with a Temper

Many consider it the most iconic introduction in film history – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, navigates a row of prison cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, with features like a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen until the moment he propels himself against the glass, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since shown that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like the actor's commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: he was already established, but rather a megastar was cemented. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own rigorously precise acting coach his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a difficult topic for Anthony, who further explains how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who disliked his time away and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a baker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and refused to displaying emotion, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who deeply disliked how they were forced begging to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. He was a poor student in his new institution. But one day during an English 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 verse, by itself, started his career. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time financial aid was available for drama school – an opportunity for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, that he favored over theater. He stopped drinking back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He remembers going out for lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks you must to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Quite so. However, he also describes facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply