🔗 Share this article

Widely regarded as the most memorable appearance in film history – while he stands completely still.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, must walk a corridor of cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. There he stands, with features like a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless until the moment he throws himself toward the window, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous real-crime films have since shown that genuine criminals are often very boring, lacking anything like Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film during the late 80s: he was already established, but a legend emerged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own rigorously precise acting coach Christopher Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a difficult topic for Anthony, who also describes how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and refused to expressing his feelings, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by how they were forced begging to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. He was a poor student at his new school. Then, during in a literature class he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, went into acting, and shocking his family, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days there were grants to attend Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he liked more to the stage. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into middle age to execute great performances, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the book he appears more reserved, more calculated. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He mentions going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it's your duty to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Indeed. But he also recounts facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply