🔗 Share this article

It stands as the most iconic appearance in film history – yet the actor stays completely still.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, must walk a corridor of cells arriving at Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. The man is present, with features like a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen right up until he throws himself at the barrier, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling the actor's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was forged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and on his own strictly demanding Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a sore point for the actor, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 to his first wife, who resented his time away and drinking.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and refused to expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who was angered by how they were forced cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. However, one day during an English class he had to recite John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time scholarships existed for drama school – a way up for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but stumbled upon an excellent television part 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 thriving starry career in cinema, which he preferred over theater. He stopped drinking in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of the book he appears more reserved, more deliberate. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He mentions having lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Really?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it's your duty to get there on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Quite so. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply