Anthony Hopkins' Memoir: We Did OK, Kid – Review: A Legend Known for His Fiery Nature

Many consider it the most memorable entrance in film history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, proceeds down a corridor of cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. There he stands, with features like an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move until the moment he propels himself at the barrier, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of real-crime films have since shown that genuine criminals are often very boring, with nothing resembling the actor's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film in 1989: a star wasn't born, but a legend emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his icily exacting Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a painful subject for Anthony, who recounts how his King Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to his first wife, who was angered by him being away and drinking.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a pastry chef and man's man, a direct communicator who detested the religious hypocrites in their community and avoided showing his emotions, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the necessity of going humbly to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, for a while. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. Then, during during an English class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time financial aid was available to go to Rada – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, that he favored to the stage. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the book he appears more reserved, more studied. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He mentions being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains you must to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Absolutely. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply