🔗 Share this article

It stands as the greatest appearance in film history – while he stands without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, must walk a row of prison cells until she reaches Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, appearing as a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless before suddenly he propels himself toward the window, making that distinctive snarling-hissing 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.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar emerged. The character of Hannibal was based, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own strictly demanding drama teacher his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a difficult topic for the actor, who also describes how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and drinking.

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 was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a bread-maker and man's man, a plain speaker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and refused to displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked the way they had to go humbly to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. Then, during in an English lesson he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, started his career. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time scholarships existed for drama school – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but stumbled upon a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, which he liked more to the stage. He stopped drinking in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of the memoir he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He recalls being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Really?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who thinks it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Quite so. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A Shakespearean like him must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply