Anthony Hopkins' Memoir: We Did OK, Kid – Insights: An Icon Known for His Fiery Nature

Many consider it the most memorable introduction in movie lore – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, must walk a row of prison cells finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. The man is present, his face resembling a living skull radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen until the moment he propels himself against the glass, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous real-crime films have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are often very boring, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He was not unrecognized at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his icily exacting Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a painful subject for the actor, who further explains how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and drinking.

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 appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a plain speaker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and avoided showing his emotions, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked the necessity of going humbly to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. Then, during in an English lesson he was required to perform John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was acting with the great Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time scholarships existed to go to Rada – a path to success for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, which he preferred to the stage. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He remembers being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as 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. Absolutely. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply