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

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

A young FBI agent, new to the job, navigates the line of detention units until she reaches Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, appearing as an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen before suddenly he lunges toward the window, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since shown that real-life murderers are often very boring, with nothing resembling Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly an unknown upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but a legend was forged. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and on his own rigorously precise acting coach Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a difficult topic for the actor, who also describes how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and drinking.

The title originates from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a bread-maker and man's man, a plain speaker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and refused to showing his emotions, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. But one day in a literature class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days scholarships existed to attend Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he liked more over theater. And he quit booze in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of the memoir he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He mentions having lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it's your duty to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Absolutely. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply