We Did OK, Kid: A Memoir by Anthony Hopkins – Analysis: An Icon Known for His Fiery Nature

It stands as the most memorable entrance in film history – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, navigates a row of prison cells arriving at Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, appearing as an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, chillingly static clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless right up until he lunges at the barrier, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, far from the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not an unknown at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and on his own strictly demanding acting coach his instructor Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a painful subject for Hopkins, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and refused to showing his emotions, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who was angered by the necessity of going humbly to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. However, one day during an English class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He convincingly states that poems, alone, launched him. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days financial aid was available for drama school – a way up for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but stumbled upon an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he liked more over theater. And he quit booze back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into his later years to execute great performances, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of the book he appears more reserved, more calculated. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He mentions going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Really?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes you must to get there on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Absolutely. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply