🔗 Share this article

Widely regarded as the most iconic introduction in movie lore – yet the actor stays completely still.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, navigates a corridor of cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, with features like an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen right up until he lunges at the barrier, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that real-life murderers are often very boring, with nothing resembling the actor's commanding screen presence.

He was not a newcomer when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his rigorously precise drama teacher Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a sore point for Hopkins, who further explains how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage back in 1966 to his first wife, who was angered by his absences and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a bread-maker and man's man, a plain speaker who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and refused to showing his emotions, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented how they were forced cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, 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 titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was performing with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time scholarships existed to attend Rada – a way up for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, that he favored compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. A few tales fall a bit flat. He mentions being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Truly?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it is one's responsibility to be on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Quite so. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply