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

Widely regarded as the most memorable appearance in movie lore – yet the actor stays completely still.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, navigates a corridor of cells until she reaches the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, his face resembling an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen before suddenly he lunges toward the window, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that real-life murderers are often very boring, with nothing resembling the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not a newcomer upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but a legend emerged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his strictly demanding acting coach Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who recounts how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and drinking.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a bread-maker and man's man, a plain speaker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and avoided displaying emotion, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked how they were forced cap-in-hand to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. But one day in a literature class he had to recite the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then there were grants to go to Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, 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 suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, which he liked more to the stage. And he quit booze in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of the book his character seems more elusive, more studied. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He recalls being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it's your duty to be on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Indeed. However, he also describes facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply