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

Many consider it the most memorable appearance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, navigates a corridor of cells arriving at Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. The man is present, appearing as a living skull filled with sinister intent, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless right up until he lunges at the barrier, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since shown that real-life murderers are often very boring, lacking anything like the actor's commanding screen presence.

He was not unrecognized when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: he was already established, but rather a megastar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his icily exacting Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a sore point for Hopkins, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in showing his emotions, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked how they were forced cap-in-hand to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. Then, during in a literature class he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days there were grants to attend Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but stumbled upon an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, that he favored over theater. And he quit booze in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of the book his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. A few tales fall a bit flat. He recalls being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Indeed. But he also recounts facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply