🔗 Share this article

Widely regarded as the most memorable entrance in cinematic history – and he remains utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, proceeds down a corridor of cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, appearing as an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen until the moment he lunges against the glass, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of real-crime films have since demonstrated that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, far from Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar emerged. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his strictly demanding drama teacher his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a painful subject for Hopkins, who recounts how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked the necessity of going begging to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. Then, during during an English class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated without much hope, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days financial aid was available for drama school – an opportunity for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but stumbled upon a great TV role as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he preferred over theater. He gave up alcohol in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more calculated. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He recalls being taken out to lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not really. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it is one's responsibility to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Absolutely. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply