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

Many consider it the most iconic appearance in film history – and he remains completely still.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, proceeds down the line of detention units finally encountering the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, with features like a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless right up until he lunges against the glass, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, far from Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not an unknown when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's 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 sore point for Anthony, who further explains how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who disliked him being away and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who detested the religious hypocrites in their community and avoided displaying emotion, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the necessity of going begging to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. However, one day during an English class he had to recite the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He convincingly states that poems, alone, launched him. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days scholarships existed to attend Rada – a way up for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but fortunately found an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he liked more to the stage. And he quit booze during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He mentions being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains you must to be on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Indeed. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply