🔗 Share this article

Widely regarded as the most memorable appearance in movie lore – and he remains utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, navigates a corridor of cells arriving at the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, with features like an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move until the moment he lunges toward the window, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless real-crime films have since revealed that actual serial killers are often very boring, lacking anything like Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend emerged. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and on his own icily exacting acting coach his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a difficult topic for Anthony, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and drinking.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a baker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and refused to displaying emotion, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the way they had to go cap-in-hand to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. But one day in a literature class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then there were grants to go to Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but lucked into a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into his later years 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 Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He remembers being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for him to absorb something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Really?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who thinks it's your duty to get there on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Indeed. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “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! He appears to be someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply