🔗 Share this article

Many consider it the most iconic entrance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays completely still.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, proceeds down the line of detention units finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. The man is present, appearing as a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless right up until he throws himself at the barrier, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since shown that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, far from Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He was not unrecognized at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but a legend was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his icily exacting Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a painful subject for Hopkins, who also describes how his Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked him being away and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a plain speaker who detested the religious hypocrites of the chapel and refused to displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked the way they had to go begging to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with 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're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, for a time. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. However, one day during an English class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He convincingly states that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, went into acting, and shocking his family, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then scholarships existed for drama school – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but lucked into a great TV role as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, that he favored to the stage. He gave up alcohol in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the memoir he appears more reserved, more studied. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He mentions having lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Really?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks you must to be on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Absolutely. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. You ever do that again 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 must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply