We Did OK, Kid: A Memoir by Anthony Hopkins – Analysis: A Legend with a Temper

It stands as the most memorable introduction in cinematic history – while he stands without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, must walk the line of detention units finally encountering Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, appearing as a living skull radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen right up until he throws himself against the glass, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that actual serial killers are often very boring, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but a legend was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his rigorously precise drama teacher Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who also describes how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt about Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked him being away and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who detested the religious hypocrites of the chapel and refused to expressing his feelings, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by how they were forced cap-in-hand to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. But one day in a literature class he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days there were grants for drama school – an opportunity for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: 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, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He mentions having lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes you must to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Indeed. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply