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

Widely regarded as the greatest entrance in movie lore – and he remains utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, navigates a corridor of cells finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, appearing as a living skull filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen until the moment he propels himself against the glass, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since shown that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, far from Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He was not a newcomer at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was forged. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own icily exacting drama teacher Christopher Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a sore point for Anthony, who also describes how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union in 1966 to his first wife, who resented him being away and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and didn't believe in showing his emotions, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the necessity of going humbly to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. However, one day during an English class he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time scholarships existed to go to Rada – a path to success for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but fortunately found a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he liked more compared to stage acting. And he quit booze back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into his later years to execute great performances, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He remembers being taken out to lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it's your duty to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Absolutely. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. 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 but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply