🔗 Share this article

Widely regarded as the most iconic appearance in cinematic history – and he remains without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, navigates the line of detention units until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, appearing as a living skull filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen before suddenly he lunges against the glass, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since shown that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, far from Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film during the late 80s: he was already established, instead, a superstar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and also from his strictly demanding Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a difficult topic for the actor, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who despised the religious hypocrites of the chapel and avoided showing his emotions, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked the necessity of going humbly to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Anthony struggled academically 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 – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was performing with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time financial aid was available for drama school – a way up for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but lucked into a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he liked more over theater. And he quit booze during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of the memoir he appears more reserved, more studied. A few tales fall a bit flat. He mentions being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Is that so?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it's your duty to be on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Indeed. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply