We Did OK, Kid: A Memoir by Anthony Hopkins – Analysis: An Icon with a Temper

It stands as the most iconic introduction in film history – and he remains utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, proceeds down a corridor of cells arriving at Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, appearing as an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen until the moment he propels himself toward the window, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous real-crime films have since shown that genuine criminals are often very boring, with nothing resembling the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly an unknown when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar emerged. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own strictly demanding acting coach Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a painful subject for Hopkins, who further explains how his Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and his alcohol use.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a baker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and refused to expressing his feelings, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who furiously resented the way they had to go cap-in-hand to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and was able to secure the 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. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. However, one day in an English lesson he had to recite John Masefield's poem The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, started his career. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then there were grants for drama school – an opportunity for working-class actors. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but stumbled upon an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of the memoir he appears more reserved, more studied. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He recalls going out for lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it is one's responsibility to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Indeed. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply