We Did OK, Kid: A Memoir by Anthony Hopkins – Analysis: An Icon Known for His Fiery Nature

Widely regarded as the greatest introduction in movie lore – and he remains completely still.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, must walk a row of prison cells until she reaches the notorious doctor's transparent prison. He is positioned, with features like a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen before suddenly he propels himself against the glass, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since revealed that actual serial killers are often very boring, lacking anything like the actor's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but a legend was cemented. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and also from his icily exacting acting coach his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a painful subject for Hopkins, who also describes how his King Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 to his first wife, who resented him being away and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a pastry chef and man's man, a straightforward talker who loathed the religious hypocrites of the chapel and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the necessity of going begging to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, for a while. He was a poor student at his new school. Then, during during an English class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then scholarships existed to go to Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but lucked into a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, that he favored to the stage. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into middle age to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He recalls being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Really?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it is one's responsibility to be on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Quite so. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King 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