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

Widely regarded as the greatest entrance in movie lore – and he remains without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, navigates the line of detention units finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. He is positioned, with features like a living skull radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen right up until he lunges against the glass, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that real-life murderers are often very boring, lacking anything like Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He was not unrecognized at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: a star wasn't born, but a legend was cemented. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and also from his icily exacting drama teacher his mentor Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who also describes how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and refused to expressing his feelings, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the way they had to go begging to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. Then, during in a literature class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, started his career. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then financial aid was available to go to Rada – a way up for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but lucked into a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, which he preferred to the stage. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into his later years to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the book his character seems more elusive, more studied. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He mentions having lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Really?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it's your duty to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Quite so. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply