Exploring Anthony Hopkins' Autobiography We Did OK, Kid – Review: A Legend with a Temper

Widely regarded as the most memorable appearance in film history – and he remains without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, navigates the line of detention units until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. He is positioned, his face resembling a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless until the moment he propels himself toward the window, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that real-life murderers are often very boring, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He was not an unknown at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller in 1989: he was already established, instead, a superstar emerged. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and on his own strictly demanding drama teacher his mentor Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a painful subject for Anthony, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a pastry chef and man's man, a straightforward talker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and avoided expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who furiously resented how they were forced cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. But one day during an English class he had to recite the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, went into acting, and shocking his family, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time financial aid was available for drama school – a path to success for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but lucked into a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he preferred to the stage. He stopped drinking back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more studied. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He recalls going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who thinks it's your duty to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Indeed. However, he also describes facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply