🔗 Share this article

Many consider it the most iconic appearance in movie lore – while he stands completely still.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, must walk a corridor of cells arriving at Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, his face resembling an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen until the moment he throws himself against the glass, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar emerged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and also from his rigorously precise Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a sore point for Hopkins, who recounts how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and refused to expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by how they were forced cap-in-hand to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. But one day during an English class he was required to perform 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 students. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated without much hope, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days financial aid was available to attend Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – 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 David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, that he favored to the stage. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of the book his character seems more elusive, more studied. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He recalls going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains you must to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Indeed. However, he also describes facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply