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

It stands as the most iconic appearance in cinematic history – while he stands utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, proceeds down the line of detention units finally encountering the notorious doctor's transparent prison. He is positioned, with features like a living skull filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen right up until he lunges toward the window, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless real-crime films have since demonstrated that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not a newcomer when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was cemented. The character of Hannibal drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own icily exacting drama teacher his mentor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who recounts how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt about Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked his absences and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a bread-maker and man's man, a plain speaker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and avoided expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who furiously resented how they were forced cap-in-hand to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. He was a poor student at his new school. But one day during an English class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was acting with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days financial aid was available for drama school – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in 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 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it through midlife to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He recalls having lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Really?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it is one's responsibility to be on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Absolutely. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A Shakespearean like him must know Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply