🔗 Share this article

Widely regarded as the most memorable introduction in cinematic history – and he remains without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, navigates a row of prison cells arriving at the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, appearing as an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, chillingly static clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move right up until he propels himself against the glass, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since shown that actual serial killers are often very boring, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was cemented. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and also from his strictly demanding Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a difficult topic for Anthony, who also describes how his King Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 to his first wife, who was angered by his time away and drinking.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a pastry chef and man's man, a direct communicator who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and avoided displaying emotion, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the necessity of going cap-in-hand to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. But one day in a literature class he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time 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: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but fortunately found an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he preferred to the stage. He stopped drinking back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more studied. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He recalls being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes you must to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Absolutely. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply