🔗 Share this article

It stands as the greatest introduction in cinematic history – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, proceeds down a row of prison cells arriving at Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, with features like an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move before suddenly he lunges against the glass, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since shown that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, far from Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly an unknown when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: he was already established, but a legend emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own icily exacting acting coach Christopher Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a sore point for Anthony, who recounts how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and refused to displaying emotion, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who furiously resented the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. Then, during during an English class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then financial aid was available to attend Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but stumbled upon a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, that he favored over theater. And he quit booze back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived through midlife to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of the memoir he appears more reserved, more studied. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He mentions being taken out to 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 Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Truly?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes you must to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Indeed. However, he also describes 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!” Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply