Exploring Anthony Hopkins' Autobiography We Did OK, Kid – Analysis: An Icon Known for His Fiery Nature

Widely regarded as the greatest introduction in movie lore – while he stands without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, proceeds down a corridor of cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, with features like a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move right up until he lunges against the glass, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since shown that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not an unknown when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: he was already established, but a legend was cemented. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and also from his strictly demanding acting coach Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a difficult topic for Anthony, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who disliked him being away and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a baker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked the way they had to go begging to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and could get young Anthony into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. However, one day during an English class he had to recite John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days there were grants to go to Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but lucked into a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, that he favored over theater. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the book he appears more reserved, more deliberate. A few tales fall a bit flat. He recalls going out for lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Truly?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who believes it's your duty to be on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Indeed. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply