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

Widely regarded as the most iconic introduction in film history – while he stands utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, navigates a row of prison cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, his face resembling an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless right up until he propels himself toward the window, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly an unknown when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar emerged. His Dr. Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his strictly demanding acting coach Christopher Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a difficult topic for Anthony, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a baker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who detested the religious hypocrites in their community and refused to showing his emotions, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who was angered by how they were forced cap-in-hand to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. But one day in a literature class he had to recite the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; 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. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then there were grants to attend Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, that he favored over theater. He gave up alcohol in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of the memoir he appears more reserved, more deliberate. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He recalls going out for lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains you must to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Absolutely. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply