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

It stands as the most iconic appearance in film history – yet the actor stays completely still.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, must walk a corridor of cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, appearing as an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen before suddenly he throws himself against the glass, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are often very boring, with nothing resembling the actor's commanding screen presence.

He was not a newcomer at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar emerged. His Dr. Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his strictly demanding drama teacher his mentor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a sore point for Hopkins, who recounts how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and drinking.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a pastry chef and man's man, a straightforward talker who detested the religious hypocrites at the church and refused to displaying emotion, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked how they were forced begging to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. However, one day in an English lesson he was required to perform John Masefield's poem The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days there were grants to go to Rada – a path to success for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but lucked into an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He recalls having lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Really?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it's your duty to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Absolutely. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of 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 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 lengthy appendix composed simply