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

It stands as the most memorable entrance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays completely still.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, must walk a row of prison cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, his face resembling a living skull filled with sinister intent, chillingly static clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless before suddenly he propels himself toward the window, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless real-crime films have since revealed that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, far from the actor's captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly an unknown at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was forged. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and on his own rigorously precise acting coach Christopher Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a difficult topic for the actor, who further explains how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to his first wife, who resented his absences and drinking.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a plain speaker who detested the religious hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who furiously resented the way they had to go cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and could get young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. Then, during in a literature class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then financial aid was available to go to Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, which he preferred to the stage. And he quit booze in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more studied. A few tales fall a bit flat. He recalls being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Truly?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it is one's responsibility to be on time, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Indeed. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. 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 went with it. An actor of his caliber must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play 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