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

It stands as the greatest entrance in movie lore – and he remains completely still.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, proceeds down a row of prison cells finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. The man is present, with features like an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen right up until he lunges toward the window, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since shown that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but a legend was forged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his icily exacting drama teacher 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 an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage in 1966 to his first wife, who resented his time away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a pastry chef and man's man, a plain speaker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and refused to displaying emotion, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. However, one day during an English class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days there were grants to attend Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another 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 a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, which he preferred to the stage. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into his later years to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He recalls having lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Really?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it's your duty to get there on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Absolutely. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. A Shakespearean like him must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply