We Did OK, Kid: A Memoir by Anthony Hopkins – Review: A Legend with a Temper

Many consider it the greatest appearance in movie lore – and he remains completely still.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, proceeds down the line of detention units arriving at Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. The man is present, appearing as a living skull filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless before suddenly he throws himself at the barrier, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous real-crime films have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Hopkins' captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was forged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own rigorously precise drama teacher Christopher Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a difficult topic for Anthony, who also describes how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and his drinking habits.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and didn't believe in showing his emotions, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked the necessity of going begging to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. But one day during an English class he had to recite John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, started his career. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days financial aid was available to attend Rada – an opportunity for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but lucked into a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, that he favored to the stage. And he quit booze back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He remembers having lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Truly?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Absolutely. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. An actor of his caliber must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply