🔗 Share this article

It stands as the most iconic entrance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, proceeds down a row of prison cells until she reaches the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, appearing as a living skull radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless right up until he propels himself at the barrier, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since shown that genuine criminals are often very boring, far from Anthony Hopkins's powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly an unknown at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was cemented. The character of Hannibal was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, 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 parent-child dynamic in these moments; a painful subject for the actor, who also describes how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and his drinking habits.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked how they were forced humbly to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. However, one day in a literature class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other students. He convincingly states that poems, alone, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then there were grants for drama school – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay 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 roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, that he favored over theater. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He recalls having lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who believes it's your duty to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Indeed. However, he also describes facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply