Anthony Hopkins' Memoir: We Did OK, Kid – Review: An Icon with a Temper

It stands as the most iconic appearance in film history – while he stands utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, navigates a row of prison cells until she reaches the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. There he stands, appearing as an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen before suddenly he throws himself toward the window, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since shown that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not a newcomer when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was forged. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and on his own icily exacting Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who was angered by his time away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who deeply disliked how they were forced humbly to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. Then, during during an English class he had to recite John Masefield's poem The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then financial aid was available to go to Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but lucked into a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he liked more compared to stage acting. And he quit booze back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived through midlife to execute great performances, such as 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 second Academy Award.

In the later sections of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more studied. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He remembers being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Really?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who believes it's your duty to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Indeed. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. An actor of his caliber must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply