Exploring Anthony Hopkins' Autobiography We Did OK, Kid – Review: A Legend Known for His Fiery Nature

Widely regarded as the most memorable introduction in film history – while he stands utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, proceeds down the line of detention units until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, with features like an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, chillingly static wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen until the moment he throws himself against the glass, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous real-crime films have since revealed that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not an unknown when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film during the late 80s: he was already established, but rather a megastar emerged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own icily exacting Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a sore point for the actor, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences 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 child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a baker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented how they were forced cap-in-hand to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. But one day in an English lesson he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time financial aid was available to go to Rada – an opportunity for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but lucked into an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, that he favored to the stage. He gave up alcohol in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into middle age to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of the memoir he appears more reserved, more deliberate. A few tales fall a bit flat. He recalls being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Really?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who believes it's your duty to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Absolutely. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. An actor of his caliber is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply