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

It stands as the most memorable appearance in cinematic history – while he stands completely still.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, proceeds down the line of detention units arriving at the notorious doctor's transparent prison. There he stands, appearing as a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, chillingly static clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless before suddenly he throws himself against the glass, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of real-crime films have since revealed that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Hopkins' captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film during the late 80s: he was already established, but rather a megastar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and on his own icily exacting drama teacher Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a difficult topic for the actor, who also describes how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked his time away and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a baker and man's man, a plain speaker who detested the religious hypocrites at the church and refused to expressing his feelings, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who was angered by how they were forced begging to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. However, one day in an English lesson he had to recite John Masefield's poem The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time there were grants to attend Rada – an opportunity for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but lucked into a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he preferred over theater. And he quit booze in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived into his later years to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of the book he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He remembers having lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes you must to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Indeed. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply