We Did OK, Kid: A Memoir by Anthony Hopkins – Review: An Icon with a Temper

It stands as the greatest introduction in cinematic history – while he stands without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, proceeds down the line of detention units finally encountering Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, with features like a living skull filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move right up until he propels himself at the barrier, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since revealed that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He was not a newcomer when he landed that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own icily exacting drama teacher his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a painful subject for Anthony, who recounts how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union back in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked him being away and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and refused to showing his emotions, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who was angered by how they were forced begging to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. However, one day in a literature class he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time financial aid was available for drama school – a way up for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: on asking his son 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 quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into middle age to execute great performances, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of the book he appears more reserved, more studied. A few tales fall a bit flat. He recalls having lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Really?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who thinks you must to get there on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Quite so. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! 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 a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply