🔗 Share this article

Widely regarded as the greatest appearance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, must walk the line of detention units finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. The man is present, his face resembling a living skull exuding demonic evil, chillingly static in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless right up until he propels himself toward the window, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that actual serial killers are often very boring, with nothing resembling Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He was not a newcomer upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and also from his strictly demanding drama teacher Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a painful subject for Anthony, who further explains how his King Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who was angered by his absences and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and avoided showing his emotions, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who was angered by the way they had to go begging to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. But one day during an English class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time there were grants to go to Rada – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but fortunately found a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, that he favored to the stage. He gave up alcohol in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more studied. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He recalls going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Is that so?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it's your duty to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Indeed. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A Shakespearean like him must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply