🔗 Share this article

Many consider it the most memorable appearance in cinematic history – and he remains without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, proceeds down a row of prison cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. He is positioned, with features like a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move right up until he lunges toward the window, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that genuine criminals are often very boring, far from Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but a legend emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own strictly demanding drama teacher Christopher Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a sore point for Hopkins, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 to his first wife, who resented his time away and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who loathed the religious hypocrites at the church and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who furiously resented the necessity of going humbly to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. Then, during in a literature class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days there were grants for drama school – an opportunity for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he liked more compared to stage acting. And he quit booze in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of the book his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. A few tales fall a bit flat. He remembers going out for lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it is one's responsibility to be on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Quite so. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that 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 accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply