🔗 Share this article

It stands as the most memorable appearance in film history – yet the actor stays completely still.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, navigates a corridor of cells until she reaches Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, appearing as an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless right up until he lunges against the glass, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous real-crime films have since demonstrated that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, far from Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He was not unrecognized at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film in 1989: a star wasn't born, but a legend was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his rigorously precise drama teacher Christopher Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a sore point for Hopkins, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and drinking.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a plain speaker who loathed the religious hypocrites in their community and refused to showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who deeply disliked the way they had to go humbly to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. He was a poor student at his new school. Then, during in a literature class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then financial aid was available for drama school – an opportunity for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but stumbled upon a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, that he favored over theater. And he quit booze back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more calculated. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He remembers having lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Really?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it's your duty to get there on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Indeed. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply