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

Many consider it the most iconic appearance in movie lore – while he stands utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, navigates a corridor of cells until she reaches the notorious doctor's transparent prison. There he stands, with features like a living skull radiating satanic malice, chillingly static clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move before suddenly he throws himself at the barrier, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous real-crime films have since demonstrated that genuine criminals are often very boring, far from Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized when he landed 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 drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, as well as his strictly demanding acting coach Christopher Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a difficult topic for Anthony, who also describes how his King Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked his time away and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth 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 direct communicator who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and avoided expressing his feelings, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all 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 the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, launched him. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then financial aid was available to go to Rada – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he liked more over theater. He stopped drinking in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He recalls going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Is that so?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes you must to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and do the job. Quite so. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply