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

Many consider it the most memorable entrance in cinematic history – and he remains completely still.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, proceeds down a row of prison cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, with features like a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move before suddenly he propels himself against the glass, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless real-crime films have since demonstrated that genuine criminals are often very boring, lacking anything like the actor's commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: a star wasn't born, but a legend emerged. The character of Hannibal was based, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his strictly demanding acting coach Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a difficult topic for Anthony, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a bread-maker and man's man, a direct communicator who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and refused to expressing his feelings, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who furiously resented how they were forced cap-in-hand to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. However, one day during an English class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time scholarships existed for drama school – a path to success for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but lucked into a great TV role as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, which he preferred over theater. And he quit booze in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the memoir he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He recalls being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Really?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it's your duty to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Quite so. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply