Exploring Anthony Hopkins' Autobiography We Did OK, Kid – Analysis: An Icon Known for His Fiery Nature

It stands as the greatest entrance in cinematic history – while he stands completely still.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, must walk a row of prison cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. The man is present, with features like a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless right up until he lunges toward the window, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since shown that real-life murderers are often very boring, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He was not an unknown when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller in 1989: a star wasn't born, but a legend was forged. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and also from his rigorously precise acting coach his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a difficult topic for Anthony, who also describes how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a baker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who despised the religious hypocrites in their community and refused to expressing his feelings, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and could get young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. Then, during in an English lesson he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days there were grants to go to Rada – a path to success for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of the book his character seems more elusive, more studied. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He remembers having lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for him to absorb something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Really?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it is one's responsibility to be on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Absolutely. But he also recounts facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply