🔗 Share this article

Widely regarded as the most memorable introduction in movie lore – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, navigates a row of prison cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. He is positioned, his face resembling an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move until the moment he lunges at the barrier, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of real-crime films have since revealed that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was forged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his rigorously precise acting coach Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a difficult topic for Anthony, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and drinking.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a plain speaker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and avoided displaying emotion, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who deeply disliked how they were forced cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. But one day in a literature class he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then there were grants to attend Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but lucked into a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He recalls going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, 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 Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. 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 grounded, serious thespian who believes it's your duty to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Indeed. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply