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

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

The FBI trainee, a rookie, proceeds down the line of detention units finally encountering the notorious doctor's transparent prison. There he stands, appearing as a living skull filled with sinister intent, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move until the moment he propels himself at the barrier, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since shown that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, far from the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was forged. His Dr. Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his strictly demanding drama teacher his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a sore point for the actor, who further explains how his Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union during the 60s to his first wife, who disliked him being away and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and avoided displaying emotion, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the way they had to go begging to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. However, one day during an English class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then scholarships existed to attend Rada – a path to success for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but lucked into a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, which he preferred over theater. He stopped drinking in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into his later years to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He remembers having lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes you must to be on time, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Quite so. But he also recounts facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply