🔗 Share this article

Widely regarded as the most memorable appearance in movie lore – and he remains completely still.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, proceeds down a row of prison cells until she reaches Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, with features like a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen right up until he lunges at the barrier, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since revealed that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, far from Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but a legend emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his strictly demanding acting coach Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a painful subject for the actor, who recounts how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a baker and man's man, a straightforward talker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and avoided showing his emotions, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who was angered by the necessity of going begging to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and could get young Anthony into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. Then, during during an English class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, went into acting, and shocking his family, was on stage with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time financial aid was available to attend Rada – a way up for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to 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 disapproval – but lucked into a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He remembers having lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Is that so?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who thinks you must to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Indeed. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply