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

It stands as the most memorable entrance in film history – while he stands without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, proceeds down the line of detention units arriving at Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. He is positioned, appearing as a living skull radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move until the moment he lunges at the barrier, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since revealed that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, far from Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was cemented. The character of Hannibal drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his rigorously precise acting coach his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a sore point for Hopkins, who further explains how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union during the 60s to his first wife, who was angered by his time away and drinking.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who detested the religious hypocrites of the chapel and didn't believe in showing his emotions, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the necessity of going begging to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. However, one day in a literature class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then financial aid was available to attend Rada – a path to success for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but fortunately found an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, which he liked more to the stage. He stopped drinking back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of the book his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He remembers having lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it's your duty to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Absolutely. But he also recounts facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply