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

Many consider it the most iconic appearance in movie lore – and he remains without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, navigates a row of prison cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, appearing as an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless right up until he lunges against the glass, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous real-crime films have since shown that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, far from Hopkins' captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film back in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his strictly demanding Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a sore point for Hopkins, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who disliked his time away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a pastry chef and man's man, a straightforward talker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and refused to displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who deeply disliked how they were forced begging to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. However, one day in an English lesson he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time there were grants to go to Rada – an opportunity for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but lucked into a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, that he favored to the stage. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into middle age to execute great performances, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with 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 studied. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He recalls having lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it's your duty to be on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Absolutely. However, he also describes facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply