Exploring Anthony Hopkins' Autobiography We Did OK, Kid – Review: A Legend with a Temper

Many consider it the most memorable introduction in film history – yet the actor stays completely still.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, navigates a row of prison cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. He is positioned, appearing as an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move until the moment he propels himself against the glass, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and on his own rigorously precise Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a difficult topic for the actor, who further explains how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage in 1966 to his first wife, who was angered by his time away and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and refused to expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who deeply disliked the necessity of going cap-in-hand to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. But one day during an English class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other students. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, started his career. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then there were grants to attend Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, which he preferred to the stage. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into middle age to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the book he appears more reserved, more deliberate. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He recalls being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it is one's responsibility to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Quite so. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply