Exploring Anthony Hopkins' Autobiography We Did OK, Kid – Analysis: An Icon with a Temper

Many consider it the greatest appearance in film history – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, proceeds down a corridor of cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. He is positioned, his face resembling an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless right up until he lunges against the glass, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that genuine criminals are often very boring, with nothing resembling Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar was forged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and also from his strictly demanding acting coach Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a painful subject for the actor, who recounts how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and drinking.

The book's name comes 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 was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the necessity of going begging to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. But one day in an English lesson he was required to perform the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was on stage with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days scholarships existed for drama school – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, which he preferred over theater. He stopped drinking back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He remembers going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks you must to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Indeed. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply