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

It stands as the most iconic entrance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays completely still.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, proceeds down a row of prison cells arriving at Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, with features like a living skull exuding demonic evil, chillingly static wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move before suddenly he lunges at the barrier, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are often very boring, lacking anything like the actor's captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: he was already established, instead, a superstar was forged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own icily exacting acting coach his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a difficult topic for the actor, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler 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 pastry chef and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who furiously resented how they were forced cap-in-hand to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. Then, during during an English class he had to recite the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, launched him. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, went into acting, and shocking his family, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then there were grants to go to Rada – a path to success for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but lucked into a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into middle age to execute great performances, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of the book he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He mentions going out for lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Is that so?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it is one's responsibility to be on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Quite so. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply