Anthony Hopkins' Memoir: We Did OK, Kid – Review: A Legend with a Temper

Widely regarded as the greatest introduction in film history – and he remains without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, proceeds down a row of prison cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, with features like a living skull radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen before suddenly he propels himself against the glass, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous real-crime films have since demonstrated that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not a newcomer at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar emerged. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his icily exacting acting coach Christopher Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a painful subject for Hopkins, who recounts how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who resented his time away and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a pastry chef and man's man, a direct communicator who detested the religious hypocrites of the chapel and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who deeply disliked the way they had to go begging to affluent family members like 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 raves while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. He was a poor student in his new institution. But one day in an English lesson he had to recite the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days scholarships existed for drama school – a path to success for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, which he preferred to the stage. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into middle age to execute great performances, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He remembers being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks you must to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Absolutely. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply