Exploring Anthony Hopkins' Autobiography We Did OK, Kid – Analysis: An Icon with a Temper

It stands as the greatest entrance in cinematic history – and he remains without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, proceeds down a corridor of cells finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, his face resembling a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen right up until he propels himself toward the window, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are often very boring, far from Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film back in 1989: he was already established, but a legend was cemented. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his strictly demanding Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. There was also 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 regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who disliked him being away and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who despised the religious hypocrites at the church and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who furiously resented how they were forced humbly to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. But one day during an English class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He convincingly states that poems, alone, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time financial aid was available for drama school – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but fortunately found a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, which he preferred over theater. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of the book he appears more reserved, more calculated. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He remembers being taken out to lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for him to absorb something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it's your duty to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Quite so. 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 in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply