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

Many consider it the most iconic introduction in movie lore – and he remains completely still.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, must walk the line of detention units arriving at Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, appearing as a living skull filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen right up until he lunges against the glass, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that genuine criminals are often very boring, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller in 1989: he was already established, instead, a superstar was forged. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his strictly demanding drama teacher his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a difficult topic for the actor, 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 to his first wife, who disliked him being away and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a bread-maker and man's man, a straightforward talker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and didn't believe in displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by how they were forced begging to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. Then, during in an English lesson he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time scholarships existed to attend Rada – an opportunity for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but lucked into a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, which he liked more to the stage. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and so survived into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of the memoir he appears more reserved, more studied. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He remembers having lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Really?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it is one's responsibility to get there on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Quite so. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply