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

Many consider it the greatest introduction in film history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, navigates the line of detention units finally encountering the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, appearing as an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless until the moment he lunges at the barrier, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: he was already established, instead, a superstar was forged. The character of Hannibal was based, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his rigorously precise acting coach Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a difficult topic for the actor, who further explains how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who disliked his time away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an historical picture of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a baker and man's man, a direct communicator who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and avoided displaying emotion, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who deeply disliked the way they had to go humbly to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. Then, during during an English class he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, started his career. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time scholarships existed to attend Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but lucked into a great TV role as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he preferred compared to stage acting. And he quit booze back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He recalls having lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Really?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains you must to be on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Quite so. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply