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

Widely regarded as the greatest entrance in cinematic history – while he stands utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, proceeds down a corridor of cells arriving at the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, his face resembling an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, chillingly static clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless right up until he throws himself against the glass, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He was not an unknown upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his strictly demanding drama teacher his mentor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a difficult topic for Anthony, who also describes how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked him being away and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a direct communicator who despised the religious hypocrites at the church and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who was angered by the necessity of going humbly to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. But one day in an English lesson he had to recite the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other students. He convincingly states that poems, alone, started his career. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was on stage with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days financial aid was available for drama school – a path to success for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but fortunately found an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he preferred compared to stage acting. And he quit booze in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He remembers being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Really?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who maintains you must to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Absolutely. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A Shakespearean like him must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply