🔗 Share this article

Widely regarded as the most iconic introduction in cinematic history – yet the actor stays completely still.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, proceeds down a corridor of cells until she reaches the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. There he stands, with features like a living skull exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move right up until he lunges at the barrier, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since revealed that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Hopkins' captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film in 1989: he was already established, instead, a superstar was cemented. The character of Hannibal was based, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and on his own icily exacting acting coach his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a sore point for Hopkins, who also describes how his King Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who despised the religious hypocrites in their community and refused to showing his emotions, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who deeply disliked the necessity of going humbly to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. He was a poor student in his new institution. But one day in a literature class he had to recite the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then scholarships existed for drama school – an opportunity for working-class actors. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but fortunately found a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, which he liked more to the stage. He gave up alcohol in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He recalls having lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Truly?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it's your duty to get there on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Indeed. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply