🔗 Share this article

Many consider it the most iconic entrance in cinematic history – while he stands completely still.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, proceeds down the line of detention units until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. He is positioned, his face resembling a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, chillingly static in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move right up until he propels himself at the barrier, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that genuine criminals are often very boring, far from Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He was not unrecognized at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was cemented. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and on his own icily exacting drama teacher Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a sore point for the actor, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and refused to expressing his feelings, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked how they were forced cap-in-hand to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. However, one day in an English lesson he was required to perform John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, launched him. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. 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 just ten years. 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. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but lucked into a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, that he favored over theater. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of the memoir he appears more reserved, more studied. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He remembers going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it's your duty to get there on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Indeed. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply