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

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

A young FBI agent, a rookie, proceeds down a row of prison cells until she reaches Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, his face resembling a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen right up until he lunges at the barrier, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since shown that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, far from the actor's captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his rigorously precise drama teacher his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a difficult topic for the actor, who recounts how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a bread-maker and man's man, a direct communicator who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and avoided displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who furiously resented the way they had to go begging to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. But one day in a literature class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, went into acting, and shocking his family, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then 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 Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but lucked into a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he preferred compared to stage acting. And he quit booze in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He remembers having lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Really?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who believes it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Indeed. But he also recounts facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. A Shakespearean like him must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply