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

Many consider it the greatest appearance in cinematic history – while he stands utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, proceeds down a corridor of cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's transparent prison. There he stands, his face resembling an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, chillingly static wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen right up until he throws himself toward the window, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that actual serial killers are often very boring, far from Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but a legend was cemented. The character of Hannibal drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his rigorously precise Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a painful subject for Hopkins, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt concerning 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 alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a pastry chef and man's man, a direct communicator who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the necessity of going humbly to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. However, one day in an English lesson he had to recite the poem by Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He convincingly states that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then scholarships existed to attend Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but fortunately found a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, that he favored to the stage. He stopped drinking in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more studied. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He recalls having lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it is one's responsibility to be on time, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Indeed. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply