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

Many consider it the most memorable entrance in cinematic history – while he stands without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, navigates a corridor of cells until she reaches Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, with features like a living skull radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move right up until he throws himself toward the window, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly an unknown when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but a legend emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own rigorously precise drama teacher his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a sore point for Anthony, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked his absences and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child 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, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a pastry chef and man's man, a plain speaker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and refused to displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who was angered by the necessity of going begging to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. Then, during during an English class he had to recite the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other students. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time financial aid was available to go to Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, which he preferred over theater. And he quit booze in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of the book he appears more reserved, more calculated. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He recalls going out for lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Really?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes you must to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Absolutely. But he also recounts facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply