🔗 Share this article

Widely regarded as the most memorable entrance in film history – while he stands without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, proceeds down a corridor of cells until she reaches Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, appearing as a living skull radiating satanic malice, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen right up until he propels himself against the glass, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like the actor's captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly an unknown at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part 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 recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own rigorously precise acting coach his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a painful subject for Hopkins, who further explains how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and refused to expressing his feelings, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who was angered by the necessity of going humbly to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. However, one day during an English class he had to recite John Masefield's poem The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was on stage with the great Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then there were grants for drama school – an opportunity for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, that he favored to the stage. And he quit booze during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He remembers having lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Really?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it is one's responsibility to get there on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Quite so. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. A Shakespearean like him must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply