Anthony Hopkins' Memoir: We Did OK, Kid – Analysis: An Icon Known for His Fiery Nature

Widely regarded as the most iconic appearance in movie lore – and he remains utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, proceeds down a corridor of cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, with features like a living skull exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move until the moment he throws himself at the barrier, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He was not a newcomer when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his rigorously precise acting coach his instructor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a difficult topic for the actor, who further explains how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to his first wife, who resented his time away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who was angered by the necessity of going humbly to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. But one day during an English class he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then financial aid was available for drama school – a path to success for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, that he favored compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the memoir he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He remembers having lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes you must to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Indeed. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply