You probably know Sir Anthony Hopkins as the guy who made fava beans and Chianti sound terrifying. Hannibal Lecter. The stoic butler in The Remains of the Day. A literal knight. But for decades, he carried around a secret that had nothing to do with acting and everything to do with a pen, some staff paper, and a melody he couldn't get out of his head. He was twenty-six when he wrote it. He was just a young musician in Wales, long before the Oscars and the global fame, sitting at a piano and composing a piece titled And the Waltz Goes On. He never expected to hear it played by an orchestra. He certainly didn't expect it to become a viral sensation fifty years later.
It sat in a drawer. For half a century, it was just a memory of a younger version of himself. Then, he sent it to André Rieu.
Most people don't realize how vulnerable it is for an actor to step into the world of classical composition. It's risky. Critics love to pounce on "celebrity vanity projects." But when Rieu—the "King of Waltz"—opened the score, he didn't see a gimmick. He saw a masterpiece. What happened next in Vienna is the kind of stuff that usually only happens in movies, except this time, the man who usually stars in the movies was sitting in the audience, looking genuinely terrified.
The Night in Vienna: When the Music Finally Breathed
The world premiere took place in 2011. Imagine being Anthony Hopkins. You’ve conquered Hollywood. You’re wealthy, respected, and knighted by the Queen. Yet, you’re sitting in a plush velvet seat in Vienna, clutching your wife’s hand, feeling like a nervous schoolboy because a world-class orchestra is about to play a tune you hummed to yourself in the 1960s.
André Rieu’s Johann Strauss Orchestra is known for spectacle. They wear the big dresses and the sharp tuxedos. They play with a specific kind of "Schmaltzy" joy that high-brow critics sometimes look down on, but audiences absolutely adore. When the violins started the opening bars of And the Waltz Goes On, the atmosphere changed. It wasn't just another waltz. It had this haunting, melancholic undertone that felt older than the man who wrote it.
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Hopkins’ reaction is the soul of the video that now has tens of millions of views. He looks overwhelmed. He’s blinking back tears. It’s a rare moment of pure, unscripted human emotion from a man who spent his life pretending to be other people. He wasn't acting. He was finally hearing his own internal voice amplified by seventy musicians.
Why the melody sticks in your head
There's a technical reason why this piece works so well. A traditional Viennese waltz is all about that "one-two-three" heartbeat. It’s designed to make you want to whirl around a ballroom until you’re dizzy. But Sir Anthony’s composition adds a layer of Welsh nostalgia. It feels like a mix of European grandiosity and a quiet, foggy morning in Port Talbot.
The piece doesn't just stay in one mood. It builds. It starts shyly, almost tentatively, much like a person entering a room they aren't sure they belong in. Then, it explodes into this cinematic climax that feels like a life well-lived. Honestly, it sounds like a film score for a movie that was never made. Rieu himself has said that he was "instantly captivated" by the melody. He recognized a "theatricality" in the notes that most modern composers struggle to replicate.
Breaking the "Actor-Composer" Stigma
Let’s be real. Usually, when an actor releases an album or shows off a "hidden talent," we all collectively cringe. We've seen the experimental jazz albums and the questionable blues covers. But And the Waltz Goes On bypassed the skepticism because it didn't feel like a branding exercise. It felt like an archival discovery.
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Hopkins actually studied music at the Royal Welsh College of Music & Drama before he ever stepped onto a professional stage. He was a pianist first. Acting was the "accident" that made him famous. In interviews, he’s often mentioned that he sees characters in terms of rhythm and tempo. When he played Lecter, he used a specific, predatory stillness. When he wrote this waltz, he used a sweeping, almost chaotic movement.
It’s interesting to note that he didn't try to conduct it himself. He didn't try to play the piano solo. He handed his "child" over to Rieu and said, essentially, do what you will with this. That humility is part of why the classical community embraced it. They weren't being asked to respect a movie star; they were being asked to respect a score.
The Cultural Impact of a 50-Year-Old Secret
Why does this matter now? Because in a world of AI-generated beats and three-minute pop songs designed for TikTok, a piece of music that took five decades to reach the public feels significant. It’s a reminder that creativity doesn't have an expiration date.
The title itself, And the Waltz Goes On, is almost prophetic. It suggests endurance. It suggests that even when we stop, the dance continues. Since that 2011 premiere, the song has become a staple of Rieu’s tours. It’s played in stadiums from Brazil to Australia. People who have never seen The Silence of the Lambs know Anthony Hopkins as the man who wrote "that beautiful waltz."
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- The Album: The piece became the title track for Rieu's 2011 album, which reached the top of the classical charts globally.
- The Genre: It’s technically a modern waltz, but it borrows heavily from the Romantic era, particularly echoing the works of Strauss and even a bit of Tchaikovsky's drama.
- The Legacy: It has encouraged other veteran artists to share their "non-primary" creative works, sparking a minor trend of celebrating multi-hyphenate creators in their later years.
Sometimes, we hold onto things because we’re afraid they aren't good enough. Hopkins did that. He kept this melody in a box. Imagine if he had never sent it. We would have lost one of the most poignant pieces of modern light classical music. It makes you wonder what else is sitting in the drawers of people we think we know everything about.
How to Truly Appreciate the Composition
If you really want to "get" what Hopkins was doing, don't just listen to the studio recording. Go find the live performance from the Belvedere Palace in Vienna. Watch the faces of the musicians. You can see the moment they realize they aren't just playing a "celebrity piece."
Listen for the transition around the midpoint. The brass section takes over, and the tone shifts from a nostalgic dance to something much more triumphant. It’s the sound of a man reconciling with his past. Honestly, it’s a bit much for a Sunday morning, but it’s perfect for when you need to feel something substantial.
Sir Anthony has since released more music, including an album with the City of Birmingham Symphony Orchestra. But nothing has quite captured the lightning-in-a-bottle magic of that first waltz. It remains his musical signature. It’s the proof that he wasn't just an actor who liked music—he was a composer who happened to be one of the greatest actors of his generation.
Practical Steps for the Curious Listener
If you’re moved by the story of And the Waltz Goes On, there are a few ways to dive deeper into this specific world of "actor-composers" and modern classical gems:
- Watch the "Making Of" footage: There is a documentary-style clip of Rieu visiting Hopkins at his home to discuss the score for the first time. It shows the raw, unpolished side of the collaboration.
- Explore the "Composer's Cut": Check out Hopkins’ 2012 album, Composer, which features other original works like "Margam" and "The Plaza." It gives a broader view of his musical range.
- Compare the Versions: Listen to the André Rieu orchestral version versus the solo piano arrangements often found on YouTube. The piano version reveals the intimacy of the original Welsh composition before the "Viennese" polish was added.
- Look into the Royal Welsh College: Research the school where Hopkins started. They often showcase modern works from their alumni, and it’s a great way to find the next generation of "hidden" composers.
The waltz doesn't just "go on"—it evolves. It reminds us that our earliest dreams, even the ones we bury under the weight of a successful career, are often the most authentic parts of who we are. Sir Anthony Hopkins finally let the world hear his 26-year-old self, and the world was better for it.