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

Many consider it the most iconic introduction in cinematic history – while he stands completely still.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, must walk the line of detention units finally encountering the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. The man is present, with features like a living skull exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move before suddenly he propels himself toward the window, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that real-life murderers are often very boring, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and also from his rigorously precise Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a difficult topic for the actor, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who furiously resented the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. However, one day during an English class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was on stage with the great Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time financial aid was available for drama school – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, which he preferred over theater. He stopped drinking in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He recalls having lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Is that so?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who thinks it's your duty to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. 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. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply