🔗 Share this article

It stands as the greatest introduction in film history – and he remains completely still.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, navigates a corridor of cells until she reaches the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, with features like a living skull exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move before suddenly he propels himself at the barrier, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless real-crime films have since shown that actual serial killers are often very boring, with nothing resembling the actor's commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was forged. The character of Hannibal was based, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his icily exacting acting coach Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a sore point for Hopkins, who further explains how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union in 1966 to his first wife, who was angered by his absences and his alcohol use.

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 appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and refused to expressing his feelings, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked how they were forced begging to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. Then, during in an English lesson he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days scholarships existed for drama school – a way up for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a suspected 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 luminous film journey in movies, that he favored to the stage. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of the book he appears more reserved, more calculated. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He mentions being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Really?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it's your duty to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and do the job. Quite so. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply