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

Widely regarded as the greatest entrance in cinematic history – while he stands without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, proceeds down a row of prison cells arriving at Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. He is positioned, with features like an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move right up until he throws himself against the glass, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown when he landed that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but a legend was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, as well as his rigorously precise drama teacher Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a painful subject for the actor, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and drinking.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a pastry chef and man's man, a direct communicator who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and didn't believe in displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the necessity of going cap-in-hand to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. However, one day in a literature class he had to recite John Masefield's poem The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then scholarships existed to attend Rada – a path to success for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, that he favored compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the book his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He mentions going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who thinks it's your duty to be on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Indeed. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply