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

Many consider it the greatest entrance in film history – while he stands utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, must walk a row of prison cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, with features like an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen before suddenly he lunges at the barrier, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of real-crime films have since revealed that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like the actor's commanding screen presence.

He was not a newcomer upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film back in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his strictly demanding drama teacher Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a sore point for Anthony, who recounts how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a plain speaker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and avoided expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the way they had to go cap-in-hand to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. He was a poor student in his new institution. But one day in an English lesson he had to recite John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He convincingly states that poems, alone, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, went into acting, and shocking his family, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time financial aid was available to go to Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but lucked into a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, which he liked more to the stage. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 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 alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the book his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He recalls going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it's your duty to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Quite so. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply