We Did OK, Kid: A Memoir by Anthony Hopkins – Analysis: An Icon Known for His Fiery Nature

Widely regarded as the greatest entrance in cinematic history – and he remains utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, must walk a row of prison cells arriving at the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, appearing as a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, chillingly static in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move until the moment he lunges at the barrier, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless true-crime documentaries have since shown that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, far from Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He was not an unknown upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: he was already established, but rather a megastar was forged. The character of Hannibal was based, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his rigorously precise Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a sore point for Anthony, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and drinking.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the necessity of going humbly to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts in the car on the way 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 at his new school. Then, during during an English class he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was acting with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days financial aid was available for drama school – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but lucked into a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, which he preferred to the stage. He stopped drinking in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it through midlife to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. A few tales fall a bit flat. He recalls going out for lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Is that so?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it's your duty to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Quite so. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply