Anthony Hopkins' Memoir: We Did OK, Kid – Review: A Legend with a Temper

It stands as the greatest introduction in cinematic history – while he stands utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, must walk a corridor of cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's transparent prison. There he stands, appearing as a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move right up until he lunges toward the window, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since shown that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Hopkins' captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: he was already established, but rather a megastar emerged. His Dr. Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his rigorously precise Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a sore point for the actor, who also describes how his Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and drinking.

The title originates from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and avoided displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked how they were forced begging to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. He was a poor student at his new school. Then, during during an English class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, started his career. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then financial aid was available for drama school – a path to success for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but stumbled upon a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, that he favored over theater. And he quit booze in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He recalls having lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Really?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes you must to be on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Absolutely. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply