🔗 Share this article

It stands as the greatest introduction in film history – while he stands without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, must walk a corridor of cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, with features like a living skull exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless until the moment he lunges against the glass, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since shown that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, far from the actor's captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film during the late 80s: he was already established, instead, a superstar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and on his own rigorously precise drama teacher his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a painful subject for Hopkins, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and refused to expressing his feelings, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the way they had to go humbly to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. However, one day during an English class he had to recite John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other students. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days scholarships existed to go to Rada – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, which he preferred to the stage. And he quit booze in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He mentions going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Indeed. But he also recounts facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply