We Did OK, Kid: A Memoir by Anthony Hopkins – Analysis: An Icon Known for His Fiery Nature

Widely regarded as the most iconic appearance in cinematic history – while he stands without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, must walk a corridor of cells until she reaches the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, appearing as a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen until the moment he lunges toward the window, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since revealed that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, far from the actor's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his strictly demanding drama teacher his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a sore point for Anthony, who also describes how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and his alcohol use.

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 would never do OK. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a bread-maker and man's man, a straightforward talker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and avoided expressing his feelings, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who furiously resented the necessity of going begging to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. However, one day in an English lesson he was required to perform the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He convincingly states that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then financial aid was available to go to Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but stumbled upon a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, that he favored to the stage. He stopped drinking back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into middle age to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He remembers being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Really?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Indeed. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! 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 possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's lines on 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