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

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

A young FBI agent, just starting out, must walk a corridor of cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, with features like a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless until the moment he lunges against the glass, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, far from Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own rigorously precise Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a sore point for the actor, who also describes how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in showing his emotions, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who was angered by the way they had to go cap-in-hand to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. He was a poor student in his new institution. However, one day in an English lesson he had to recite John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, started his career. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time financial aid was available for drama school – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but lucked into an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, which he liked more to the stage. He stopped drinking in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live through midlife to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He remembers being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes you must to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Quite so. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply