We Did OK, Kid: A Memoir by Anthony Hopkins – Analysis: A Legend Known for His Fiery Nature

It stands as the greatest appearance in cinematic history – while he stands without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, must walk a corridor of cells finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, appearing as an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless right up until he throws himself toward the window, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that real-life murderers are often very boring, far from Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not a newcomer at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend emerged. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his icily exacting acting coach his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a sore point for Hopkins, who further explains how his Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and drinking.

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 child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a baker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who detested the religious hypocrites of the chapel and avoided displaying emotion, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the way they had to go cap-in-hand to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. However, one day in an English lesson he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, launched him. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated without much hope, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was on stage with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days scholarships existed to go to Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived into middle age to execute great performances, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of the memoir he appears more reserved, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He remembers being taken out to lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who believes it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Quite so. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply