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

Many consider it the most iconic entrance in movie lore – while he stands utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, navigates a row of prison cells until she reaches the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. There he stands, appearing as a living skull exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move right up until he throws himself toward the window, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless real-crime films have since shown that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not unrecognized upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but a legend emerged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his strictly demanding drama teacher his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who recounts how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union during the 60s to his first wife, who resented his time away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a pastry chef and man's man, a straightforward talker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and didn't believe in displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. But one day during an English class he had to recite the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He convincingly states that poems, alone, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, went into acting, and shocking his family, was on stage with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then there were grants to attend Rada – a way up for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but lucked into a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, which he preferred to the stage. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He mentions having lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Is that so?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it is one's responsibility to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Quite so. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply