🔗 Share this article

Many consider it the most iconic introduction in cinematic history – yet the actor stays completely still.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, navigates a corridor of cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, appearing as an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move right up until he propels himself toward the window, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are often very boring, far from the actor's commanding screen presence.

He was not unrecognized when he landed that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, as well as his icily exacting acting coach his mentor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a painful subject for Hopkins, who recounts how his King Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union during the 60s to his first wife, who was angered by him being away and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a bread-maker and man's man, a plain speaker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and didn't believe in showing his emotions, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the necessity of going humbly to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. However, one day in a literature class he had to recite the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated without much hope, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then scholarships existed for drama school – a path to success for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but lucked into a great TV role as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, which he preferred over theater. He stopped drinking back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of the memoir he appears more reserved, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He remembers going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it's your duty to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and do the job. Absolutely. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply