🔗 Share this article

Widely regarded as the most iconic introduction in movie lore – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, proceeds down a corridor of cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, with features like a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, chillingly static wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move before suddenly he propels himself at the barrier, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, far from Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was forged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his icily exacting acting coach his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who recounts how his King Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and drinking.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who despised the religious hypocrites of the chapel and avoided displaying emotion, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who furiously resented the way they had to go humbly to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. However, one day during an English class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then scholarships existed to attend Rada – a path to success for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, which he preferred to the stage. And he quit booze during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into his later years to execute great performances, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of the memoir he appears more reserved, more studied. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He mentions going out for lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Not really. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Is that so?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who believes it's your duty to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Absolutely. But he also recounts facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply