🔗 Share this article

It stands as the most iconic appearance in movie lore – and he remains utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, must walk a row of prison cells arriving at Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. He is positioned, appearing as a living skull exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen before suddenly he lunges toward the window, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since shown that actual serial killers are often very boring, with nothing resembling Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own rigorously precise Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a sore point for Hopkins, who recounts how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 to his first wife, who was angered by his time away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a bread-maker and man's man, a plain speaker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and refused to expressing his feelings, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the way they had to go humbly to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. However, one day in an English lesson he had to recite the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days there were grants to attend Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but lucked into a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he liked more over theater. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, including 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.

During the second part of the book his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He recalls going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for him to absorb something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Really?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains you must to get there on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Quite so. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply