We Did OK, Kid: A Memoir by Anthony Hopkins – Insights: An Icon Known for His Fiery Nature

Many consider it the most iconic introduction in cinematic history – yet the actor stays completely still.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, navigates a row of prison cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, his face resembling an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, chillingly static wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless before suddenly he throws himself toward the window, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous real-crime films have since shown that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, far from Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own strictly demanding drama teacher his mentor Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a difficult topic for the actor, who recounts how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and didn't believe in showing his emotions, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the necessity of going humbly to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. He was a poor student at his new school. Then, during during an English class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He convincingly states that poems, alone, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then financial aid was available to attend Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but fortunately found a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, that he favored over theater. He gave up alcohol in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day with 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 fall a bit flat. He remembers being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who intended to inform him his performance 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 rejection of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Really?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains you must to be on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Absolutely. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply