Exploring Anthony Hopkins' Autobiography We Did OK, Kid – Insights: A Legend Known for His Fiery Nature

Many consider it the most memorable appearance in film history – and he remains without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, proceeds down a corridor of cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, appearing as a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless before suddenly he throws himself at the barrier, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless real-crime films have since revealed that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his icily exacting acting coach his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a sore point for Hopkins, who also describes how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a baker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who detested the religious hypocrites at the church and avoided displaying emotion, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who was angered by how they were forced begging to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. However, one day in a literature class he had to recite John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then financial aid was available to attend Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but lucked into an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, that he favored compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived through midlife to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of the memoir he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He remembers being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate 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 opportunity for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Really?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it's your duty to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and do the job. Indeed. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply