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

Widely regarded as the most iconic appearance in movie lore – while he stands utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, navigates the line of detention units arriving at Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. The man is present, with features like an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move until the moment he throws himself against the glass, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since revealed that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film in 1989: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was cemented. The character of Hannibal was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own icily exacting drama teacher his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union during the 60s to his first wife, who disliked him being away and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a baker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who despised the religious hypocrites in their community and refused to expressing his feelings, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the way they had to go begging to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. However, one day during an English class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other students. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, 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 for drama school – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he liked more to the stage. He gave up alcohol in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it through midlife to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He recalls going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Really?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it's your duty to be on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Absolutely. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply