🔗 Share this article

It stands as the greatest entrance in cinematic history – and he remains without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, navigates the line of detention units until she reaches the notorious doctor's transparent prison. The man is present, his face resembling a living skull filled with sinister intent, chillingly static in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless before suddenly he propels himself at the barrier, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous real-crime films have since demonstrated that genuine criminals are often very boring, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly an unknown when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was forged. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his rigorously precise Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who further explains how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a baker and man's man, a direct communicator who despised the religious hypocrites of the chapel and refused to displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who deeply disliked the necessity of going cap-in-hand to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves in the car on the way there. “We are all expecting handouts! 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 titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days scholarships existed to go to Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but lucked into a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and so survived into middle age to execute great performances, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He recalls being taken out to lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Really?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who believes it's your duty to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Quite so. But he also recounts facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply