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

Widely regarded as the most iconic appearance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, proceeds down the line of detention units arriving at Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, with features like a living skull filled with sinister intent, chillingly static in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless right up until he throws himself toward the window, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since revealed that genuine criminals are often very boring, far from the actor's commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was forged. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and also from his strictly demanding drama teacher his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a sore point for Hopkins, who also describes how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to his first wife, who resented his absences and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and refused to displaying emotion, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who was angered by how they were forced begging to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. Then, during in a literature class he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, started his career. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, went into acting, and shocking his family, was performing with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days scholarships existed to attend Rada – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but fortunately found an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he liked more to the stage. He stopped drinking back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived 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 The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He remembers having lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Really?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who believes it's your duty to be on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Absolutely. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply