Exploring Anthony Hopkins' Autobiography We Did OK, Kid – Analysis: A Legend with a Temper

Widely regarded as the most iconic introduction in cinematic history – and he remains utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, proceeds down the line of detention units arriving at Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, with features like a living skull radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless until the moment he propels himself toward the window, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since revealed that actual serial killers are often very boring, lacking anything like the actor's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his strictly demanding Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a sore point for Anthony, 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 during the 60s to his first wife, who disliked his absences and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who detested the religious hypocrites at the church and avoided expressing his feelings, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who deeply disliked the necessity of going 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: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. However, one day in an English lesson he was required to perform the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, 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 to attend Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of the memoir he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He remembers being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Really?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who believes you must to get there on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Quite so. However, he also describes facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply