Exploring Anthony Hopkins' Autobiography We Did OK, Kid – Analysis: A Legend Known for His Fiery Nature

It stands as the most memorable appearance in film history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, proceeds down the line of detention units until she reaches Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, his face resembling an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen until the moment he throws himself at the barrier, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since shown that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, far from the actor's commanding screen presence.

He was not unrecognized when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film in 1989: he was already established, instead, a superstar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own strictly demanding drama teacher his mentor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a painful subject for Hopkins, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and drinking.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a baker and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who detested the religious hypocrites in their community and avoided expressing his feelings, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the way they had to go cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. He was a poor student at his new school. But one day in a literature class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other students. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then financial aid was available to attend Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but lucked into a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of the book he appears more reserved, more studied. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He mentions going out for lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Really?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it's your duty to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Absolutely. But he also recounts facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply