We Did OK, Kid: A Memoir by Anthony Hopkins – Analysis: A Legend with a Temper

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

Clarice Starling, just starting out, navigates the line of detention units finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, his face resembling a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen until the moment he propels himself toward the window, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that actual serial killers are often very boring, far from Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He was not unrecognized at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his rigorously precise Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a sore point for the actor, who also describes how his King Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a baker and man's man, a direct communicator who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and refused to expressing his feelings, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who was angered by the way they had to go begging to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. Then, during during an English class he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days financial aid was available to attend Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. A few tales fall a bit flat. He remembers having lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Truly?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who thinks you must to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Quite so. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply