Anthony Hopkins' Memoir: We Did OK, Kid – Review: A Legend Known for His Fiery Nature

Many consider it the most memorable entrance in movie lore – and he remains utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, proceeds down the line of detention units until she reaches the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, appearing as a living skull radiating satanic malice, chillingly static in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen before suddenly he throws himself at the barrier, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous real-crime films have since revealed that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, far from Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He was not a newcomer at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was forged. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his rigorously precise acting coach his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a difficult topic for Anthony, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and drinking.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a direct communicator who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented how they were forced begging to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. Then, during in a literature class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was performing with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time financial aid was available to attend Rada – a path to success for working-class actors. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a potential 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 on screen, which he preferred to the stage. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it through midlife to execute great performances, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of the book his character seems more elusive, more studied. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He mentions being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Really?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it is one's responsibility to be on time, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Quite so. However, he also describes facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play 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