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

It stands as the most memorable entrance in cinematic history – and he remains completely still.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, navigates a row of prison cells arriving at the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, appearing as an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen right up until he propels himself toward the window, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of real-crime films have since shown that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling the actor's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly an unknown at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his icily exacting Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a difficult topic for the actor, who recounts how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a baker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and avoided showing his emotions, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who furiously resented the way they had to go cap-in-hand to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. Then, during during an English class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, 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 the great Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time financial aid was available to attend Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he preferred to the stage. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the book he appears more reserved, more deliberate. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He remembers being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for him to absorb something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Really?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who believes it is one's responsibility to be on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Quite so. However, he also describes facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply