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

Many consider it the most memorable appearance in movie lore – and he remains completely still.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, must walk the line of detention units finally encountering Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. He is positioned, with features like a living skull radiating satanic malice, chillingly static clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen until the moment he propels himself against the glass, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are often very boring, far from Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but a legend emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his strictly demanding drama teacher his mentor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a sore point for the actor, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union during the 60s to his first wife, who disliked him being away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a bread-maker and man's man, a direct communicator who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and refused to displaying emotion, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who was angered by how they were forced humbly to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. He was a poor student at his new school. But one day in a literature class he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, went into acting, and shocking his family, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then financial aid was available to attend Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but lucked into a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, that he favored over theater. And he quit booze during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He remembers being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it's your duty to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Quite so. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression 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 straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply