🔗 Share this article

It stands as the most iconic appearance in film history – while he stands utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, must walk a row of prison cells until she reaches the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, appearing as a living skull radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move before suddenly he lunges at the barrier, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous real-crime films have since demonstrated that real-life murderers are often very boring, lacking anything like Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He was not unrecognized upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller in 1989: he was already established, but a legend was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own strictly demanding acting coach his mentor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a painful subject for Anthony, who recounts how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and refused to showing his emotions, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the necessity of going humbly to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. However, one day during an English class he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He convincingly states that poems, alone, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, 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 there were grants to go to Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, which he liked more compared to stage acting. And he quit booze back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He remembers having lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Truly?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who believes it's your duty to be on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Absolutely. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply