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

Many consider it the most iconic appearance in cinematic history – and he remains utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, proceeds down a corridor of cells arriving at the notorious doctor's transparent prison. The man is present, his face resembling an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, chillingly static wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen before suddenly he lunges at the barrier, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are often very boring, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: he was already established, instead, a superstar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own strictly demanding Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a sore point for Hopkins, who further explains how his Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked his time away and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a baker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who despised the religious hypocrites at the church and avoided expressing his feelings, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the way they had to go begging to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. Then, during in a literature class he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was acting with the great Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days financial aid was available to go to Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but fortunately found a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he preferred over theater. He stopped drinking back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into his later years to execute great performances, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the memoir he appears more reserved, more calculated. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He recalls having lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes you must to be on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Quite so. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply