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

It stands as the most iconic entrance in movie lore – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, proceeds down the line of detention units arriving at the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, appearing as a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, chillingly static clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen before suddenly he throws himself at the barrier, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous real-crime films have since demonstrated that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He was not an unknown at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was forged. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and on his own rigorously precise Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a sore point for Hopkins, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked the necessity of going begging to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. He was a poor student at his new school. Then, during during an English class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He convincingly states that poems, alone, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time there were grants for drama school – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he preferred compared to stage acting. And he quit booze in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He recalls having lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Really?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Absolutely. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply