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

Many consider it the most memorable entrance in movie lore – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, must walk a row of prison cells arriving at Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, appearing as a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, chillingly static clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen right up until he lunges toward the window, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of real-crime films have since revealed that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, far from Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller in 1989: he was already established, instead, a superstar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his rigorously precise drama teacher his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a sore point for Hopkins, who recounts how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a bread-maker and man's man, a straightforward talker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the way they had to go cap-in-hand to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. Then, during during an English class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then scholarships existed to go to Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but stumbled upon a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, that he favored to the stage. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of the memoir he appears more reserved, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He remembers being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Is that so?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it's your duty to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Quite so. However, he also describes facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply