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

Many consider it the greatest entrance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, proceeds down a row of prison cells arriving at the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, his face resembling a living skull exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen before suddenly he throws himself toward the window, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous real-crime films have since revealed that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but a legend was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and also from his icily exacting acting coach his mentor Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a sore point for the actor, who further explains how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage in 1966 to his first wife, who resented his time away and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an historical picture of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a bread-maker and man's man, a straightforward talker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who furiously resented the way they had to go begging to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. But one day during an English class he had to recite John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other students. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, went into acting, and shocking his family, was on stage with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then there were grants to attend Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, which he liked more to the stage. And he quit booze in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into middle age to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He mentions having lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it's your duty to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Absolutely. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply