🔗 Share this article

Widely regarded as the greatest appearance in film history – yet the actor stays completely still.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, must walk a corridor of cells finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, with features like a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen right up until he throws himself toward the window, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous real-crime films have since demonstrated that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was forged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his rigorously precise drama teacher his mentor Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a sore point for Anthony, who also describes how his Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked him being away and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a plain speaker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and didn't believe in showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the necessity of going begging to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. However, one day in a literature class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then scholarships existed for drama school – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but lucked into a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, which he preferred over theater. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into his later years to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more studied. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He remembers going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for him to absorb something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Really?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it is one's responsibility to be on time, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Indeed. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply