🔗 Share this article

It stands as the most memorable introduction in cinematic history – while he stands completely still.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, must walk a row of prison cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, appearing as a living skull radiating satanic malice, chillingly static clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless before suddenly he throws himself against the glass, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless real-crime films have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are often very boring, far from Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown when he landed that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: he was already established, but a legend was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, as well as his icily exacting drama teacher his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a painful subject for Anthony, who also describes how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in showing his emotions, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked how they were forced humbly to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. He was a poor student in his new institution. Then, during in an English lesson he was required to perform the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, started his career. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated without much hope, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was performing with the great Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then there were grants to go to Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but fortunately found a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he preferred to the stage. And he quit booze in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He recalls going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Really?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it is one's responsibility to get there on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Absolutely. But he also recounts facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply