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

Widely regarded as the most memorable introduction in movie lore – and he remains completely still.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, proceeds down the line of detention units arriving at Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, appearing as an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move until the moment he throws himself against the glass, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and also from his icily exacting drama teacher his mentor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a painful subject for Anthony, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a plain speaker who despised the religious hypocrites of the chapel and refused to expressing his feelings, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who deeply disliked the way they had to go humbly to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. Then, during in a literature class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, started his career. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time financial aid was available for drama school – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but fortunately found a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he preferred compared to stage acting. And he quit booze in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into his later years to execute great performances, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He recalls having lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it is one's responsibility to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Quite so. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply