Exploring Anthony Hopkins' Autobiography We Did OK, Kid – Review: An Icon Known for His Fiery Nature

It stands as the most iconic introduction in film history – yet the actor stays completely still.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, proceeds down a corridor of cells arriving at Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, appearing as a living skull exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen right up until he lunges at the barrier, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous real-crime films have since revealed that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, far from Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: he was already established, but a legend emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his strictly demanding Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a painful subject for Anthony, who further explains 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 his first wife, who disliked his time away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who loathed the religious hypocrites in their community and refused to displaying emotion, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the way they had to go begging to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. He was a poor student at his new school. However, one day during an English class he had to recite the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then scholarships existed to go to Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he liked more to the stage. And he quit booze back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into his later years to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He recalls having lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it's your duty to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Absolutely. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply