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

It stands as the most iconic entrance in movie lore – while he stands completely still.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, proceeds down the line of detention units until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, appearing as a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move until the moment he throws himself at the barrier, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since revealed that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, far from the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: he was already established, but a legend emerged. His Dr. Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and also from his icily exacting Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a sore point for the actor, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage back in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked his absences and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who detested the religious hypocrites of the chapel and refused to showing his emotions, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who deeply disliked how they were forced begging to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. He was a poor student in his new institution. However, one day during an English class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days there were grants for drama school – a path to success for working-class actors. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, that he favored over theater. And he quit booze during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and so survived into his later years to execute great performances, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He recalls being taken out to lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it's your duty to be on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Indeed. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply