🔗 Share this article

Widely regarded as the greatest appearance in movie lore – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, must walk a row of prison cells until she reaches Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, with features like an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, chillingly static clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move right up until he propels himself against the glass, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are often very boring, with nothing resembling Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown when he landed that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar emerged. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, as well as his icily exacting Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a sore point for Hopkins, who also describes how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt about Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a bread-maker and man's man, a straightforward talker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and refused to displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the necessity of going begging to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. But one day in a literature class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was acting with the great Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then financial aid was available to go to Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but fortunately found a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, that he favored compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He mentions being taken out to lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Is that so?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it's your duty to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Indeed. However, he also describes facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply