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

Many consider it the greatest appearance in movie lore – while he stands without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, must walk a row of prison cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's transparent prison. The man is present, with features like a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, chillingly static clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless before suddenly he lunges toward the window, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since shown that genuine criminals are often very boring, far from Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller in 1989: he was already established, but a legend was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his rigorously precise drama teacher Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a difficult topic for Anthony, who further explains how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a direct communicator who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who deeply disliked the way they had to go begging to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. Then, during during an English class he had to recite John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, started his career. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days financial aid was available to attend Rada – a path to success for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, that he favored over theater. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live through midlife to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of the book his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He remembers being taken out to lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it is one's responsibility to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Quite so. However, he also describes facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A Shakespearean like him must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply