🔗 Share this article

Widely regarded as the most iconic appearance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays completely still.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, proceeds down the line of detention units arriving at the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, his face resembling an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, chillingly static clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless right up until he propels himself at the barrier, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He was not a newcomer at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was cemented. The character of Hannibal drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and on his own icily exacting Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a painful subject for Hopkins, who further explains how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who disliked him being away and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the way they had to go humbly to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “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 pleading was effective, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. Then, during in a literature class he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then there were grants to go to Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but fortunately found a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, which he liked more to the stage. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the book his character seems more elusive, more studied. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He recalls having lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who thinks you must to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Indeed. However, he also describes facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply