🔗 Share this article

Widely regarded as the most memorable entrance in movie lore – yet the actor stays completely still.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, navigates a row of prison cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. The man is present, his face resembling a living skull exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen until the moment he propels himself at the barrier, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like the actor's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film back in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, as well as his icily exacting drama teacher his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a painful subject for Hopkins, who further explains how his King Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a baker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who despised the religious hypocrites at the church and refused to expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked the necessity of going humbly to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. However, one day during an English class he had to recite the poem by Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days there were grants for drama school – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but lucked into an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he liked more to the stage. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived through midlife to execute great performances, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with 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 personality becomes more opaque, more studied. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He remembers being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it's your duty to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Indeed. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply