Exploring Anthony Hopkins' Autobiography We Did OK, Kid – Review: An Icon Known for His Fiery Nature

It stands as the most iconic introduction in cinematic history – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, navigates a row of prison cells arriving at Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. He is positioned, with features like a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen until the moment he lunges at the barrier, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of real-crime films have since shown that real-life murderers are often very boring, with nothing resembling Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He was not an unknown at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was forged. His Dr. Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his strictly demanding acting coach his instructor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a painful subject for the actor, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a pastry chef and man's man, a straightforward talker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and avoided showing his emotions, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the way they had to go begging to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and could get the young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. But one day during an English class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days there were grants to attend Rada – 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 recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but stumbled upon a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, that he favored over theater. And he quit booze during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He recalls being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it is one's responsibility to get there on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Absolutely. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply