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

It stands as the most memorable appearance in movie lore – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, navigates a corridor of cells finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, with features like an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, chillingly static clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen before suddenly he throws himself at the barrier, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film in 1989: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was cemented. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his icily exacting acting coach his mentor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a difficult topic for Anthony, who recounts how his Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and drinking.

The title originates from an historical picture of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and avoided showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked how they were forced humbly to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. 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 talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days financial aid was available to go to Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but stumbled upon a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, which he liked more over theater. And he quit booze back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into middle age to execute great performances, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the memoir he appears more reserved, more studied. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He mentions going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who thinks it's your duty to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Quite so. However, he also describes facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply