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Many consider it the greatest appearance in movie lore – while he stands utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, navigates the line of detention units arriving at Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, with features like a living skull exuding demonic evil, chillingly static wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move until the moment he throws himself against the glass, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that actual serial killers are often very boring, with nothing resembling the actor's commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, as well as his icily exacting Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who recounts how his King Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a bread-maker and man's man, a plain speaker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and refused to showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who deeply disliked the way they had to go begging to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. However, one day during an English class he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then scholarships existed to attend Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, that he favored to the stage. He gave up alcohol in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of the memoir he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He mentions having lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it is one's responsibility to be on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Quite so. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A Shakespearean like him must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply