Exploring Anthony Hopkins' Autobiography We Did OK, Kid – Insights: A Legend with a Temper

Many consider it the greatest introduction in movie lore – and he remains completely still.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, proceeds down the line of detention units arriving at Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, appearing as an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless until the moment he propels himself toward the window, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since shown that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, far from Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar emerged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his icily exacting drama teacher his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a difficult topic for Anthony, who also describes how his King Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union in 1966 to his first wife, who resented him being away and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who despised the religious hypocrites of the chapel and avoided expressing his feelings, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who furiously resented how they were forced humbly to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. But one day in a literature class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time financial aid was available for drama school – a path to success for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but lucked into an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, which he liked more over theater. He stopped drinking in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into his later years to execute great performances, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the book he appears more reserved, more studied. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He mentions having lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Is that so?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it's your duty to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Absolutely. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply