🔗 Share this article

Many consider it the most iconic appearance in movie lore – and he remains completely still.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, must walk the line of detention units until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, appearing as an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move until the moment he lunges toward the window, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are often very boring, far from the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: he was already established, but a legend was forged. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his strictly demanding acting coach his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a painful subject for Hopkins, who further explains how his Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union during the 60s to his first wife, who disliked him being away and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and refused to showing his emotions, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the way they had to go humbly to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. But one day in a literature class he had to recite the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, started his career. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days scholarships existed to go to Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but fortunately found a great TV role as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He recalls going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Is that so?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it is one's responsibility to get there on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Indeed. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! 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 yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply