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

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

Clarice Starling, a rookie, must walk a corridor of cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, appearing as an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, chillingly static wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move until the moment he lunges against the glass, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless true-crime documentaries have since revealed that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, far from Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was cemented. 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, as well as his icily exacting drama teacher Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a difficult topic for the actor, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a bread-maker and man's man, a straightforward talker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and refused to showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked the way they had to go begging to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. Then, during in a literature class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days there were grants to go to Rada – an opportunity for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, which he preferred to the stage. And he quit booze during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and managed to live through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more studied. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He remembers being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Is that so?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it is one's responsibility to be on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Absolutely. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply