🔗 Share this article

Many consider it the most memorable appearance in movie lore – while he stands without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, must walk a row of prison cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. The man is present, his face resembling a living skull radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless until the moment he propels himself against the glass, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since shown that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not unrecognized upon receiving 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 drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and on his own icily exacting drama teacher his instructor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a difficult topic for the actor, who further explains how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt about Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked his time away and drinking.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a pastry chef and man's man, a straightforward talker who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and avoided showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who furiously resented how they were forced cap-in-hand to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and could get young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. However, one day in a literature class he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time financial aid was available for drama school – a way up for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, which he preferred compared to stage acting. And he quit booze in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived through midlife to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the memoir he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He remembers being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it's your duty to be on time, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Indeed. But he also recounts facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply