🔗 Share this article

Widely regarded as the most memorable entrance in movie lore – while he stands utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, navigates the line of detention units finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, appearing as a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen right up until he throws himself toward the window, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, far from the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not an unknown upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and on his own strictly demanding acting coach his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a painful subject for the actor, who also describes how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in showing his emotions, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who was angered by how they were forced humbly to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. However, one day in a literature class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other students. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days financial aid was available for drama school – a way up for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but lucked into a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he preferred over theater. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He recalls going out for lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Really?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who believes it is one's responsibility to get there on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Absolutely. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. An actor of his caliber must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply