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

Many consider it the most memorable entrance in movie lore – and he remains utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, must walk the line of detention units finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. He is positioned, with features like a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen right up until he lunges at the barrier, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless real-crime films have since demonstrated that real-life murderers are often very boring, far from Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend emerged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his rigorously precise Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a difficult topic for the actor, who also describes how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a baker and man's man, a direct communicator who loathed the religious hypocrites at the church and refused to showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who was angered by the necessity of going humbly to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. But one day during an English class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated without much hope, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days there were grants for drama school – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but lucked into a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He mentions having lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. He tends to concur with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Really?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it's your duty to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Absolutely. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply