🔗 Share this article

Widely regarded as the most iconic entrance in film history – while he stands without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, proceeds down a row of prison cells until she reaches the notorious doctor's transparent prison. He is positioned, his face resembling a living skull radiating satanic malice, chillingly static wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen until the moment he lunges at the barrier, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like the actor's captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly an unknown at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller in 1989: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was forged. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and on his own rigorously precise drama teacher his instructor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a painful subject for Hopkins, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt about Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked his absences and drinking.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a baker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked the necessity of going humbly to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. However, one day in an English lesson he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, launched him. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days financial aid was available to go to Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but lucked into an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he liked more over theater. He stopped drinking back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into his later years to execute great performances, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He remembers going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Really?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains you must to be on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Indeed. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply