🔗 Share this article

Many consider it the most iconic appearance in film history – and he remains completely still.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, proceeds down a corridor of cells arriving at Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. He is positioned, his face resembling an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless right up until he lunges toward the window, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of real-crime films have since shown that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was forged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, 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 parent-child dynamic in these moments; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who also describes how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked his time away and his drinking habits.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a plain speaker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the necessity of going begging to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. Then, during during an English class he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time financial aid was available to go to Rada – an opportunity for working-class actors. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: 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, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but fortunately found a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into middle age to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He recalls having lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it's your duty to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Absolutely. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply