🔗 Share this article

It stands as the most iconic introduction in movie lore – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, proceeds down the line of detention units arriving at the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. He is positioned, appearing as an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen before suddenly he throws himself toward the window, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of real-crime films have since demonstrated that real-life murderers are often very boring, far from Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He was not an unknown upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his rigorously precise drama teacher his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a difficult topic for Anthony, who recounts how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt about Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 to his first wife, who was angered by him being away and drinking.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a baker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who despised the religious hypocrites in their community and refused to displaying emotion, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked how they were forced begging to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. He was a poor student in his new institution. However, one day in an English lesson he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time financial aid was available to attend Rada – a path to success for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, that he favored to the stage. And he quit booze in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into his later years to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of the book he appears more reserved, more studied. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He recalls having lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Truly?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who believes it's your duty to be on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Quite so. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply