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

Widely regarded as the most iconic entrance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, must walk a corridor of cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. There he stands, appearing as an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless before suddenly he lunges toward the window, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since shown that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He was not an unknown when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was forged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and also from his strictly demanding acting coach his mentor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a painful subject for the actor, who also describes how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who detested the religious hypocrites at the church and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the way they had to go cap-in-hand to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. Then, during during an English class he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, went into acting, and shocking his family, was on stage with the great Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time financial aid was available for drama school – 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 perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, that he favored over theater. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He mentions having lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for him to absorb something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Quite so. But he also recounts facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A Shakespearean like him must know Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply