🔗 Share this article

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

The FBI trainee, just starting out, proceeds down a row of prison cells finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, appearing as a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, chillingly static clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen right up until he propels himself at the barrier, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous real-crime films have since shown that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He was not unrecognized at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: he was already established, instead, a superstar was forged. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and on his own icily exacting acting coach his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who further explains how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who disliked his time away and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an historical picture of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a baker and man's man, a direct communicator who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and avoided displaying emotion, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who was angered by the way they had to go humbly to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. However, one day in an English lesson he was required to perform John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated without much hope, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days there were grants to attend Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but lucked into a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he preferred to the stage. And he quit booze in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live through midlife to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He remembers going out for lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for him to absorb something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Really?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it's your duty to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and do the job. Indeed. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply