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

Many consider it the most iconic entrance in film history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, navigates a corridor of cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, with features like a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move until the moment he throws himself at the barrier, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of real-crime films have since revealed that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He was not an unknown upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar emerged. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his icily exacting Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a sore point for Anthony, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union during the 60s to his first wife, who disliked him being away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a bread-maker and man's man, a direct communicator who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who furiously resented how they were forced begging to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. But one day during an English class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then there were grants to go to Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but lucked into a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, that he favored to the stage. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of the book his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He mentions having lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who thinks it is one's responsibility to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Quite so. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply