🔗 Share this article

Many consider it the greatest appearance in cinematic history – and he remains utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, proceeds down a row of prison cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, his face resembling a living skull filled with sinister intent, chillingly static clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move right up until he throws himself at the barrier, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that real-life murderers are often very boring, far from Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He was not an unknown upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own strictly demanding acting coach Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a painful subject for the actor, who also describes how his Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an historical picture of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and avoided displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who was angered by the necessity of going cap-in-hand to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. Then, during in an English lesson he had to recite the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, went into acting, and shocking his family, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time there were grants for drama school – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but stumbled upon a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, which he liked more over theater. He stopped drinking back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it through midlife to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the book his character seems more elusive, more studied. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He mentions going out for lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Truly?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who maintains you must to get there on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Quite so. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply