🔗 Share this article

Widely regarded as the most memorable entrance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, navigates the line of detention units finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, his face resembling a living skull filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move before suddenly he propels himself against the glass, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since shown that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling the actor's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and also from his strictly demanding Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and drinking.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a direct communicator who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who was angered by how they were forced begging to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. However, one day in an English lesson he had to recite John Masefield's poem The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other students. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time financial aid was available for drama school – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but lucked into an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he liked more to the stage. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of the book he appears more reserved, more calculated. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He recalls going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Is that so?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it's your duty to be on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Quite so. However, he also describes facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply