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

It stands as the most memorable entrance in cinematic history – while he stands without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, must walk a row of prison cells until she reaches the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, appearing as a living skull radiating satanic malice, chillingly static in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen before suddenly he throws himself toward the window, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, far from Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was forged. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and also from his icily exacting acting coach his mentor Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who was angered by his absences and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a bread-maker and man's man, a plain speaker who loathed the religious hypocrites at the church and avoided showing his emotions, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked the necessity of going humbly to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. However, one day during an English class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time scholarships existed to go to Rada – an opportunity for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but fortunately found a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, which he preferred over theater. And he quit booze during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and managed to live through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, such as 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 his autobiography he appears more reserved, more calculated. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He mentions being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not really. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Really?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who believes you must to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Indeed. However, he also describes facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry 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 went with it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply