🔗 Share this article

Widely regarded as the most iconic entrance in movie lore – and he remains utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, must walk a corridor of cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. He is positioned, appearing as a living skull filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless right up until he propels himself at the barrier, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless real-crime films have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are often very boring, with nothing resembling the actor's captivating film persona.

He was not unrecognized at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar emerged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his icily exacting acting coach his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a painful subject for Anthony, who also describes how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret about Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union in 1966 to his first wife, who was angered by his absences and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a bread-maker and man's man, a direct communicator who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and refused to showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked the way they had to go humbly to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. But one day in a literature class he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other students. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days financial aid was available to attend Rada – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he preferred over theater. And he quit booze back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He recalls being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Really?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks you must to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Absolutely. However, he also describes facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply