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

Widely regarded as the most iconic introduction in cinematic history – while he stands completely still.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, must walk a corridor of cells arriving at Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, with features like a living skull exuding demonic evil, chillingly static clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move right up until he throws himself toward the window, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless real-crime films have since revealed that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like the actor's commanding screen presence.

He was not unrecognized upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but a legend emerged. His Dr. Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and on his own rigorously precise Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a painful subject for the actor, who recounts how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and refused to showing his emotions, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the way they had to go humbly to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and could get young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. However, one day during an English class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, 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, although in those days there were grants for drama school – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but lucked into a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he liked more to the stage. And he quit booze in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He mentions being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it's your duty to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Indeed. However, he also describes facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply