🔗 Share this article

Many consider it the most memorable appearance in cinematic history – while he stands without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, must walk a row of prison cells arriving at Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, appearing as a living skull radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen until the moment he lunges against the glass, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like the actor's captivating film persona.

He was not a newcomer when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar emerged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his icily exacting acting coach his mentor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a sore point for the actor, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and drinking.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and refused to showing his emotions, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the way they had to go begging to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. He was a poor student at his new school. Then, during in a literature class he had to recite the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then there were grants to go to Rada – a path to success for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but fortunately found a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, that he favored compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He remembers going out for lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Really?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it is one's responsibility to be on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Absolutely. But he also recounts facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply