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

It stands as the most iconic entrance in movie lore – yet the actor stays completely still.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, navigates the line of detention units finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, appearing as a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move before suddenly he throws himself against the glass, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of real-crime films have since shown that real-life murderers are often very boring, far from the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not a newcomer at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar emerged. His Dr. Lecter was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, as well as his icily exacting acting coach Christopher Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a painful subject for Anthony, who further explains how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a direct communicator who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and refused to expressing his feelings, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who deeply disliked the necessity of going cap-in-hand to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. Then, during in an English lesson he was required to perform the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time there were grants to attend Rada – a way up for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but lucked into a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, that he favored to the stage. And he quit booze during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live through midlife 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 Academy Award.

In the latter half of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He remembers being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Is that so?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains you must to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Absolutely. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way 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 came with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply