🔗 Share this article

Many consider it the most memorable appearance in film history – and he remains completely still.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, navigates the line of detention units arriving at Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, with features like an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless before suddenly he lunges at the barrier, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since shown that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but a legend emerged. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own icily exacting drama teacher Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and avoided showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who furiously resented the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. Then, during in an English lesson he had to recite John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time scholarships existed to attend Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay 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 the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, that he favored compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the memoir he appears more reserved, more studied. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He remembers having lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for him to absorb something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Really?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it's your duty to get there on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Indeed. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply