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

It stands as the greatest appearance in film history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, proceeds down a corridor of cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, his face resembling a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move right up until he lunges at the barrier, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous real-crime films have since shown that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: he was already established, instead, a superstar was cemented. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his icily exacting acting coach his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a sore point for the actor, who also describes how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked him being away and his drinking habits.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a bread-maker and man's man, a plain speaker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and didn't believe in showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who was angered by the necessity of going cap-in-hand to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. He was a poor student at his new school. But one day in a literature class he had to recite John Masefield's poem The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then there were grants for drama school – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but lucked into an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he preferred over theater. And he quit booze during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and thus made it through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He recalls having lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for him to absorb something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Really?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it's your duty to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Indeed. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply