🔗 Share this article

Widely regarded as the greatest entrance in movie lore – while he stands utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, proceeds down a corridor of cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. The man is present, his face resembling an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen right up until he throws himself at the barrier, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous real-crime films have since revealed that real-life murderers are often very boring, lacking anything like the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was forged. His Dr. Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his strictly demanding acting coach his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a painful subject for the actor, who recounts how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a plain speaker who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and refused to displaying emotion, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, for a time. He was a poor student in his new institution. However, one day during an English class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He convincingly states that poems, alone, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then financial aid was available to attend Rada – a way up for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but lucked into an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, which he liked more over theater. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. A few tales fall a bit flat. He mentions going out for lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Indeed. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A Shakespearean like him must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply