Exploring Anthony Hopkins' Autobiography We Did OK, Kid – Insights: An Icon with a Temper

It stands as the greatest appearance in movie lore – while he stands utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, must walk a row of prison cells until she reaches Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. He is positioned, his face resembling a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, chillingly static wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless until the moment he throws himself against the glass, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless real-crime films have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are often very boring, with nothing resembling the actor's commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was forged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his rigorously precise drama teacher his mentor Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a difficult topic for the actor, who also describes how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union 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 Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a bread-maker and man's man, a plain speaker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who was angered by the way they had to go cap-in-hand to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” 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 at his new school. Then, during in a literature class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other students. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was on stage with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days scholarships existed for drama school – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another 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 criticism – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, which he preferred to the stage. He stopped drinking back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more studied. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He mentions being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it's your duty to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and do the job. Quite so. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply