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

Widely regarded as the most iconic entrance in film history – while he stands without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, proceeds down a corridor of cells until she reaches the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, with features like a living skull radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen before suddenly he throws himself at the barrier, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since shown that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling the actor's captivating film persona.

He was not unrecognized upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: he was already established, but a legend was cemented. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his rigorously precise acting coach his mentor Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a painful subject for Anthony, who also describes how his King Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union in 1966 to his first wife, who was angered by him being away and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and avoided expressing his feelings, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the way they had to go cap-in-hand to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. However, one day during an English class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then scholarships existed for drama school – an opportunity for working-class actors. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, 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 the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he preferred to the stage. He gave up alcohol in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived into middle age to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of the book his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He mentions being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Really?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who maintains you must to be on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Indeed. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply