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Widely regarded as the most iconic entrance in movie lore – while he stands utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, must walk a corridor of cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, his face resembling a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, chillingly static clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen right up until he throws himself against the glass, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous real-crime films have since demonstrated that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He was not unrecognized 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 portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and also from his rigorously precise drama teacher his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a difficult topic for the actor, who further explains how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a pastry chef and man's man, a direct communicator who loathed the religious hypocrites in their community and avoided showing his emotions, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who deeply disliked the way they had to go humbly to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. But one day in a literature class he had to recite the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time there were grants to go to Rada – an opportunity for working-class actors. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but lucked into an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, that he favored to the stage. And he quit booze back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, 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 second Oscar.

In the latter half of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He recalls having lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Absolutely. However, he also describes facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply