We Did OK, Kid: A Memoir by Anthony Hopkins – Insights: A Legend Known for His Fiery Nature

Many consider it the most iconic appearance in movie lore – and he remains without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, must walk a row of prison cells until she reaches the notorious doctor's transparent prison. He is positioned, appearing as a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen right up until he throws himself against the glass, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since shown that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar emerged. His Dr. Lecter was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own icily exacting acting coach Christopher Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a difficult topic for Anthony, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret concerning 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 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 felt confused, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and avoided displaying emotion, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who furiously resented the necessity of going humbly to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. Then, during in a literature class he had to recite the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, went into acting, and shocking his family, was acting with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days financial aid was available to go to Rada – a path to success for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but lucked into an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, that he favored compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He remembers being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it is one's responsibility to be on time, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Quite so. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A Shakespearean like him must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply