Anthony Hopkins' Memoir: We Did OK, Kid – Review: A Legend with a Temper

Many consider it the most memorable appearance in movie lore – while he stands without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, navigates a row of prison cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. He is positioned, appearing as a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen right up until he throws himself at the barrier, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless true-crime documentaries have since shown that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, far from the actor's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his rigorously precise acting coach his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a sore point for Hopkins, who also describes how his Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and drinking.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a baker and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who detested the religious hypocrites of the chapel and didn't believe in showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by how they were forced cap-in-hand to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and could get the young Anthony into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. But one day during an English class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He convincingly states that poems, alone, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days there were grants to go to Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, which he liked more to the stage. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He recalls going out for lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Really?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains you must to be on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Quite so. However, he also describes facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply