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

Widely regarded as the greatest appearance in movie lore – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, proceeds down a row of prison cells arriving at Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, appearing as an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen before suddenly he lunges at the barrier, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Hopkins' captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar was cemented. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his icily exacting acting coach Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a painful subject for the actor, who further explains how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a baker and man's man, a direct communicator who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and refused to expressing his feelings, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the necessity of going cap-in-hand to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. However, one day in a literature class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, went into acting, and shocking his family, was on stage with the great Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then scholarships existed to go to Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, that he favored over theater. He stopped drinking in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it through midlife to execute great performances, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the book his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He mentions having lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Truly?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who thinks you must to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Quite so. But he also recounts facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply