Exploring Anthony Hopkins' Autobiography We Did OK, Kid – Review: A Legend Known for His Fiery Nature

It stands as the most memorable introduction in cinematic history – and he remains without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, must walk a row of prison cells arriving at Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, with features like an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, chillingly static in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen until the moment he propels himself against the glass, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of real-crime films have since shown that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He was not a newcomer at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his strictly demanding acting coach Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a difficult topic for the actor, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and drinking.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a baker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and refused to displaying emotion, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who was angered by the necessity of going begging to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. Then, during in a literature class he had to recite the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated without much hope, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then scholarships existed for drama school – an opportunity for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but fortunately found an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He recalls being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Hardly. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it's your duty to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Quite so. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. 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 went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply