Exploring Anthony Hopkins' Autobiography We Did OK, Kid – Insights: An Icon with a Temper

Widely regarded as the most memorable entrance in movie lore – and he remains without moving a muscle.

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 in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move right up until he throws himself at the barrier, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are often very boring, lacking anything like Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He was not an unknown at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was forged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and also from his icily exacting drama teacher his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a difficult topic for the actor, who further explains how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a baker and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who was angered by how they were forced humbly to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. However, one day in a literature class he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then there were grants to go to Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, which he liked more over theater. He gave up alcohol in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the book he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He mentions being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it is one's responsibility to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Indeed. But he also recounts facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply