🔗 Share this article

Many consider it the most iconic introduction in cinematic history – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, navigates a corridor of cells arriving at Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, appearing as an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, chillingly static in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move until the moment he throws himself against the glass, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since shown that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly an unknown upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar emerged. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his strictly demanding drama teacher his instructor Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a painful subject for the actor, who further explains how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked his absences and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and refused to showing his emotions, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who deeply disliked how they were forced cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. But one day during an English class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was performing with the great Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time there were grants to attend Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but fortunately found a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he preferred to the stage. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He recalls being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it's your duty to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Absolutely. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. An actor of his caliber is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply