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

Many consider it the greatest appearance in movie lore – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, proceeds down a row of prison cells until she reaches the notorious doctor's transparent prison. He is positioned, with features like an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen right up until he propels himself against the glass, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of real-crime films have since demonstrated that real-life murderers are often very boring, with nothing resembling the actor's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his rigorously precise acting coach Christopher Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a painful subject for Anthony, who further explains how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked him being away and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a baker and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and refused to displaying emotion, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented how they were forced humbly to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. Then, during in a literature class he had to recite the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days scholarships existed to go to Rada – an opportunity for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but lucked into a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he liked more over theater. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more studied. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He remembers being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Really?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who thinks it's your duty to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Quite so. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply