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

Many consider it the most iconic appearance in film history – and he remains utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, navigates the line of detention units finally encountering the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. He is positioned, with features like an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless right up until he propels himself at the barrier, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless real-crime films have since demonstrated that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like the actor's captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film back in 1989: he was already established, instead, a superstar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and also from his strictly demanding drama teacher his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a baker and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who despised the religious hypocrites at the church and avoided displaying emotion, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the necessity of going humbly to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. He was a poor student in his new institution. But one day during an English class he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, went into acting, and shocking his family, was on stage with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then financial aid was available for drama school – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but lucked into a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, that he favored to the stage. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and so survived through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He mentions being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it is one's responsibility to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Quite so. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply