🔗 Share this article

Many consider it the greatest introduction in film history – and he remains without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, must walk the line of detention units finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, with features like a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move before suddenly he throws himself toward the window, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since revealed that actual serial killers are often very boring, lacking anything like Hopkins' captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his icily exacting acting coach his mentor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a sore point for the actor, who further explains how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage in 1966 to his first wife, who was angered by his time away and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a baker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the way they had to go begging to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. He was a poor student at his new school. But one day in an English lesson he had to recite John Masefield's poem The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days scholarships existed for drama school – a path to success for working-class actors. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, 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.

In the later sections of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He remembers having lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Truly?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks you must to be on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Indeed. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! 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 possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply