🔗 Share this article

Many consider it the most memorable introduction in cinematic history – yet the actor stays completely still.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, navigates a row of prison cells finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, his face resembling an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move until the moment he throws himself at the barrier, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, far from Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was forged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his strictly demanding acting coach his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a difficult topic for the actor, who further explains how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a bread-maker and man's man, a plain speaker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who was angered by the necessity of going begging to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. He was a poor student in his new institution. However, one day in a literature class he had to recite the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days financial aid was available to go to Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but fortunately found 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 thriving starry career in movies, which he preferred to the stage. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of the memoir he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He mentions having lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Is that so?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it's your duty to be on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Quite so. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply