Exploring Anthony Hopkins' Autobiography We Did OK, Kid – Review: A Legend with a Temper

It stands as the most iconic entrance in movie lore – and he remains utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, navigates a corridor of cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. The man is present, with features like a living skull filled with sinister intent, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless right up until he lunges at the barrier, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since shown that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly an unknown at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and on his own icily exacting acting coach his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a sore point for the actor, who also describes how his King Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who disliked his absences and drinking.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a baker and man's man, a direct communicator who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and refused to displaying emotion, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked the way they had to go begging to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. But one day in a literature class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days there were grants to attend Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but stumbled upon a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, which he preferred over theater. And he quit booze during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and so survived through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more studied. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He remembers having lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Really?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it's your duty to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Quite so. But he also recounts facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! 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 accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply