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

Widely regarded as the most memorable entrance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays completely still.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, must walk a corridor of cells arriving at Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, his face resembling an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, chillingly static in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen right up until he propels himself against the glass, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous real-crime films have since demonstrated that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He was not a newcomer at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but a legend was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his rigorously precise acting coach Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a painful subject for the actor, who further explains how his Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to his first wife, who was angered by his absences and drinking.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who loathed the religious hypocrites at the church and didn't believe in showing his emotions, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who was angered by how they were forced humbly to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. But one day during an English class he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other students. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated without much hope, went into acting, and shocking his family, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time financial aid was available to go to Rada – a path to success for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, that he favored compared to stage acting. And he quit booze back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. A few tales fall a bit flat. He remembers being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it's your duty to be on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Indeed. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply