Exploring Anthony Hopkins' Autobiography We Did OK, Kid – Review: An Icon Known for His Fiery Nature

Many consider it the greatest introduction in cinematic history – while he stands utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, proceeds down the line of detention units until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. He is positioned, with features like an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen right up until he propels himself against the glass, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of real-crime films have since shown that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling the actor's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar emerged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own icily exacting acting coach his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a difficult topic for Anthony, who further explains how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked his absences and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a plain speaker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who furiously resented the way they had to go humbly to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and could get the young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. Then, during in an English lesson he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days scholarships existed for drama school – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but lucked into a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, that he favored over theater. And he quit booze back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the book he appears more reserved, more calculated. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He mentions going out for lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Really?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it's your duty to get there on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Absolutely. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply