🔗 Share this article

Many consider it the greatest entrance in movie lore – and he remains completely still.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, proceeds down the line of detention units arriving at Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, appearing as an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, chillingly static wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move before suddenly he propels himself toward the window, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since shown that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, as well as his strictly demanding drama teacher his mentor Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a sore point for the actor, who recounts how his Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked his time away and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a bread-maker and man's man, a straightforward talker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the necessity of going 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 shouts during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. However, one day in an English lesson he had to recite John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days there were grants to go to Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into his later years to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He recalls being taken out to lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it is one's responsibility to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Absolutely. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A Shakespearean like him must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply