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

Many consider it the most iconic entrance in film history – and he remains without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, must walk a row of prison cells finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, appearing as a living skull exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen before suddenly he lunges at the barrier, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since shown that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like the actor's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film during the late 80s: he was already established, but rather a megastar was cemented. The character of Hannibal was inspired, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and also from his rigorously precise Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a sore point for the actor, who further explains how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage back in 1966 to his first wife, who resented him being away and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a pastry chef and man's man, a straightforward talker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and avoided displaying emotion, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the way they had to go begging to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. Then, during during an English class he had to recite 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 poetry, on its own, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time there were grants for drama school – a way up for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, which he preferred compared to stage acting. And he quit booze back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He mentions going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Truly?

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 do the job. Quite so. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply