We Did OK, Kid: A Memoir by Anthony Hopkins – Review: An Icon with a Temper

Widely regarded as the most iconic entrance in movie lore – while he stands completely still.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, navigates the line of detention units finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. The man is present, with features like a living skull radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen until the moment he lunges at the barrier, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since revealed that actual serial killers are often very boring, far from Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He was not a newcomer at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: he was already established, but rather a megastar was forged. His Dr. Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and also from his rigorously precise Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a painful subject for the actor, who recounts how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to his first wife, who was angered by him being away and drinking.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a bread-maker and man's man, a plain speaker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who was angered by the way they had to go humbly to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. Then, during during an English class he had to recite John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other students. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was on stage with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days there were grants for drama school – an opportunity for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed 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 burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but stumbled upon an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, which he liked more to the stage. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, 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 next Oscar win.

During the second part of the book his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He remembers having lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Is that so?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains you must to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Indeed. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply