🔗 Share this article

Widely regarded as the most iconic appearance in movie lore – while he stands completely still.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, must walk a row of prison cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, his face resembling a living skull filled with sinister intent, chillingly static in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move right up until he propels himself at the barrier, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since revealed that actual serial killers are often very boring, lacking anything like Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: he was already established, but a legend was forged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his icily exacting acting coach his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a sore point for Anthony, who recounts how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked him being away and drinking.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a baker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and avoided showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked the way they had to go humbly to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious 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 voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then scholarships existed to attend Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but stumbled upon a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, which he preferred compared to stage acting. And he quit booze back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived through midlife to execute great performances, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of the memoir he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He mentions going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Truly?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who thinks it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Absolutely. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply