Exploring Anthony Hopkins' Autobiography We Did OK, Kid – Insights: An Icon with a Temper

It stands as the most iconic appearance in movie lore – and he remains utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, navigates a corridor of cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. He is positioned, appearing as a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, chillingly static wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move right up until he lunges at the barrier, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous real-crime films have since shown that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly an unknown at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but a legend emerged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and on his own strictly demanding acting coach his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a sore point for Hopkins, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a baker and man's man, a plain speaker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and avoided expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked the way they had to go humbly to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. He was a poor student in his new institution. But one day during an English class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, launched him. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days there were grants to go to Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but stumbled upon a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he liked more to the stage. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into middle age to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. A few tales fall a bit flat. He recalls having lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Truly?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, 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: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again 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 went with it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply