🔗 Share this article

It stands as the greatest entrance in cinematic history – while he stands without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, proceeds down a row of prison cells finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. He is positioned, with features like an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless before suddenly he lunges against the glass, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since revealed that genuine criminals are often very boring, lacking anything like the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not a newcomer when he landed that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his strictly demanding acting coach his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a sore point for the actor, who recounts how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union during the 60s to his first wife, who disliked his time away and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. 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 man's man, a direct communicator who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the way they had to go cap-in-hand to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. But one day in a literature class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other students. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, started his career. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days financial aid was available for drama school – a way up for working-class actors. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but lucked into an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, that he favored over theater. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and so survived into his later years to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the book his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He mentions being taken out to lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Truly?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it's your duty to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Absolutely. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A Shakespearean like him must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply