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

Many consider it the most iconic entrance in movie lore – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, proceeds down a corridor of cells arriving at Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, with features like a living skull radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move until the moment he propels himself toward the window, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since shown that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was forged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own rigorously precise drama teacher his instructor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a sore point for the actor, who recounts how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who resented him being away and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a direct communicator who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and didn't believe in showing his emotions, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who was angered by the way they had to go cap-in-hand to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. He was a poor student at his new school. Then, during in a literature class he had to recite John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated without much hope, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days financial aid was available to attend 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 the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but lucked into a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, that he favored compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived into his later years to execute great performances, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more studied. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He mentions being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Really?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it's your duty to be on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Indeed. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply