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

It stands as the greatest entrance in cinematic history – while he stands completely still.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, must walk a row of prison cells arriving at Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, with features like a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen right up until he lunges toward the window, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, far from Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar was forged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, as well as his strictly demanding drama teacher Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a sore point for Hopkins, who recounts how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a plain speaker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who furiously resented the necessity of going humbly to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. However, one day in a literature class he had to recite the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was acting with the great Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time scholarships existed for drama school – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but lucked into a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, that he favored compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. A few tales fall a bit flat. He recalls going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it is one's responsibility to be on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Quite so. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply