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Many consider it the most memorable appearance in movie lore – and he remains utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, navigates a row of prison cells arriving at Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, appearing as a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless until the moment he throws himself at the barrier, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are often very boring, with nothing resembling Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He was not a newcomer upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his icily exacting Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a difficult topic for the actor, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a baker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and refused to expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who was angered by the necessity of going humbly to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. But one day in a literature class he had to recite the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time there were grants for drama school – a way up for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but lucked into a great TV role as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he liked more over theater. He stopped drinking back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He recalls being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for him to absorb advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who thinks it is one's responsibility to be on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Quite so. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply