🔗 Share this article

It stands as the most memorable entrance in cinematic history – and he remains utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, proceeds down a corridor of cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's transparent prison. There he stands, with features like a living skull radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move before suddenly he lunges at the barrier, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since revealed that real-life murderers are often very boring, far from the actor's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but a legend emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and on his own rigorously precise Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a sore point for Anthony, who further explains how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 to his first wife, who was angered by him being away and drinking.

The title originates from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who despised the religious hypocrites at the church and refused to displaying emotion, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who deeply disliked how they were forced begging to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. He was a poor student in his new institution. Then, during in a literature class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated without much hope, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then there were grants to attend Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and burst into tears.

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 stumbled upon a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He remembers going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Is that so?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it's your duty to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Indeed. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply