We Did OK, Kid: A Memoir by Anthony Hopkins – Insights: A Legend with a Temper

Widely regarded as the most memorable appearance in movie lore – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, navigates a row of prison cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. There he stands, appearing as an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, chillingly static clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless right up until he propels himself against the glass, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since shown that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like the actor's commanding screen presence.

He was not an unknown at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but a legend emerged. His Dr. Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and also from his rigorously precise Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a pastry chef and man's man, a plain speaker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked the way they had to go begging to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. But one day during an English class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days scholarships existed for drama school – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but fortunately found a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, that he favored over theater. He gave up alcohol in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived into middle age to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He recalls having lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes you must to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and do the job. Absolutely. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply