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Widely regarded as the most iconic entrance in cinematic history – and he remains without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, proceeds down the line of detention units arriving at Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, his face resembling a living skull exuding demonic evil, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen before suddenly he throws himself at the barrier, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. 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.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his icily exacting Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a painful subject for Anthony, who also describes how his Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a baker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who loathed the religious hypocrites in their community and avoided expressing his feelings, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who deeply disliked the way they had to go humbly to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. He was a poor student at his new school. However, one day in an English lesson he had to recite John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, went into acting, and shocking his family, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time financial aid was available to attend Rada – a way up for working-class actors. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he liked more over theater. He gave up alcohol in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived into his later years to execute great performances, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He recalls having lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Really?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it's your duty to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Quite so. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply