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

It stands as the greatest entrance in movie lore – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, proceeds down a corridor of cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, his face resembling a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless until the moment he throws himself toward the window, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless real-crime films have since revealed that actual serial killers are often very boring, far from Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but a legend was cemented. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader 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 sore point for the actor, who further explains how his King Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who resented him being away and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and refused to expressing his feelings, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. However, one day in an English lesson he was required to perform the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days financial aid was available to attend Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he preferred over theater. He gave up alcohol in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He recalls going out for lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it is one's responsibility to be on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Quite so. However, he also describes facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply