🔗 Share this article

It stands as the most iconic introduction in film history – while he stands completely still.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, proceeds down a corridor of cells arriving at the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, his face resembling a living skull exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move until the moment he lunges toward the window, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, far from the actor's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but a legend was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own icily exacting drama teacher Christopher Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a sore point for the actor, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union back in 1966 to his first wife, who was angered by him being away and drinking.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a baker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and refused to showing his emotions, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked the way they had to go begging to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. Then, during in an English lesson he was required to perform the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, launched him. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then there were grants to attend Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but stumbled upon a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he preferred to the stage. He gave up alcohol in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He mentions having lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for him to absorb something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it's your duty to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Indeed. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! 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 went with it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply