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

Many consider it the most memorable appearance in movie lore – while he stands completely still.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, proceeds down a row of prison cells arriving at Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. The man is present, his face resembling an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, chillingly static in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move until the moment he propels himself toward the window, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous real-crime films have since revealed that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film during the late 80s: he was already established, instead, a superstar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his rigorously precise Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a painful subject for the actor, who further explains how his Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked the way they had to go humbly to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. But one day in an English lesson he had to recite John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, started his career. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then there were grants to go to Rada – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more calculated. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He remembers having lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Truly?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who maintains you must to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Absolutely. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply