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

It stands as the greatest entrance in movie lore – and he remains without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, proceeds down a corridor of cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. He is positioned, with features like a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen before suddenly he throws himself against the glass, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless real-crime films have since shown that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, far from Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He was not unrecognized at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller in 1989: he was already established, instead, a superstar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and also from his strictly demanding drama teacher his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a difficult topic for Anthony, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to his first wife, who resented his absences and his drinking habits.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a baker and man's man, a plain speaker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and avoided showing his emotions, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who was angered by the necessity of going humbly to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. However, one day in an English lesson he had to recite the poem by Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other students. He convincingly states that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days financial aid was available for drama school – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but lucked into an excellent television part playing an alleged 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 on screen, which he liked more compared to stage acting. And he quit booze in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of the book his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He remembers going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Really?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes you must to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Quite so. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. An actor of his caliber must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply