🔗 Share this article

Many consider it the greatest introduction in cinematic history – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, proceeds down the line of detention units arriving at Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, appearing as a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move right up until he propels himself at the barrier, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless real-crime films have since revealed that actual serial killers are often very boring, far from the actor's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was forged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, as well as his strictly demanding drama teacher his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a sore point for Hopkins, who recounts how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked his absences and his drinking habits.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a pastry chef and man's man, a straightforward talker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the way they had to go humbly to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. But one day in a literature class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated without much hope, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time scholarships existed to go to Rada – a way up for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but fortunately found a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, that he favored compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of the memoir he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He remembers having lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks you must to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Quite so. However, he also describes facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply