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Widely regarded as the most iconic introduction in film history – while he stands without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, navigates a row of prison cells until she reaches Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. He is positioned, with features like an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move before suddenly he lunges against the glass, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film during the late 80s: he was already established, instead, a superstar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his strictly demanding Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a painful subject for the actor, who also describes how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s 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 on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a baker and man's man, a plain speaker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and refused to displaying emotion, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the way they had to go cap-in-hand to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. But one day in a literature class he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days scholarships existed for drama school – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he liked more over theater. And he quit booze back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into his later years to execute great performances, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the memoir he appears more reserved, more calculated. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He mentions being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Really?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who thinks it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Quite so. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A Shakespearean like him must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply