🔗 Share this article

Many consider it the greatest appearance in film history – and he remains without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, must walk the line of detention units arriving at Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, his face resembling a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen right up until he throws himself at the barrier, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that real-life murderers are often very boring, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not a newcomer at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his rigorously precise drama teacher Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a painful subject for Anthony, who recounts how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked his time away and his drinking habits.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a direct communicator who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and didn't believe in showing his emotions, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked the way they had to go begging to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. However, one day during an English class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then financial aid was available to go to Rada – a path to success for working-class actors. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but fortunately found a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He mentions going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it's your duty to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Absolutely. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply