Anthony Hopkins' Memoir: We Did OK, Kid – Insights: An Icon with a Temper

It stands as the most memorable introduction in movie lore – while he stands without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, proceeds down the line of detention units until she reaches the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. The man is present, appearing as an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, chillingly static wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move right up until he lunges toward the window, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that real-life murderers are often very boring, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was cemented. 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, as well as his strictly demanding acting coach his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a difficult topic for the actor, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union in 1966 to his first wife, who resented his time away and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a baker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and refused to showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the way they had to go humbly to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. But one day in a literature class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time there were grants to go to Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he liked more compared to stage acting. And he quit booze in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. A few tales fall a bit flat. He recalls going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who believes it's your duty to get there on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Quite so. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply