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

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

Clarice Starling, just starting out, navigates a row of prison cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, with features like a living skull exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move before suddenly he propels himself toward the window, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of real-crime films have since demonstrated that real-life murderers are often very boring, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: he was already established, but rather a megastar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his strictly demanding acting coach his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a difficult topic for Anthony, who recounts how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who resented him being away and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a bread-maker and man's man, a plain speaker who loathed the religious hypocrites at the church and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who was angered by the way they had to go humbly to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. But one day in a literature class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other students. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, launched him. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days financial aid was available to attend Rada – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but lucked into a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, that he favored over theater. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the memoir he appears more reserved, more studied. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He remembers being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn 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 repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who believes it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and do the job. Indeed. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply