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

Many consider it the greatest entrance in film history – while he stands completely still.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, must walk a row of prison cells arriving at the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. There he stands, with features like an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, chillingly static wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen until the moment he propels himself against the glass, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous real-crime films have since revealed that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling the actor's captivating film persona.

He was not an unknown at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: he was already established, but a legend was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own rigorously precise Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a sore point for the actor, who further explains how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a baker and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and avoided showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. Then, during in an English lesson he had to recite the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then there were grants to attend Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but lucked into an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, which he liked more to the stage. He stopped drinking back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He mentions having lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Truly?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains you must to be on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Quite so. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply