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

Many consider it the most memorable appearance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, must walk a row of prison cells until she reaches Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, with features like a living skull radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless right up until he lunges at the barrier, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous real-crime films have since shown that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, far from Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: he was already established, instead, a superstar was forged. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and on his own rigorously precise acting coach his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a sore point for Hopkins, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who loathed the religious hypocrites in their community and avoided expressing his feelings, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the way they had to go humbly to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. Then, during in an English lesson he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other students. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated without much hope, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time scholarships existed for drama school – a way up for working-class actors. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, which he preferred over theater. He stopped drinking in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live through midlife to execute great performances, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He mentions having lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Is that so?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who thinks it's your duty to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Indeed. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply