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

It stands as the most iconic appearance in cinematic history – while he stands completely still.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, must walk a corridor of cells finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, appearing as a living skull radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen until the moment he propels himself toward the window, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous real-crime films have since demonstrated that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not a newcomer at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own rigorously precise acting coach his mentor Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a painful subject for the actor, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked his absences and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a baker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and avoided expressing his feelings, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who deeply disliked the necessity of going begging to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. However, one day in a literature class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time financial aid was available to attend Rada – a way up for working-class actors. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but fortunately found a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, which he preferred over theater. He stopped drinking back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He mentions going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Really?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who believes it is one's responsibility to get there on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Quite so. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. A Shakespearean like him must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply