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It stands as the most memorable appearance in cinematic history – and he remains without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, proceeds down a row of prison cells until she reaches Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, his face resembling a living skull filled with sinister intent, chillingly static wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless until the moment he lunges against the glass, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, far from Hopkins' captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller in 1989: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and on his own strictly demanding drama teacher his instructor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a painful subject for Anthony, who further explains how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked him being away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a baker and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the necessity of going begging to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. However, one day in an English lesson he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He convincingly states that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time there were grants to attend Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, that he favored over theater. He gave up alcohol in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He remembers going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for him to absorb something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Truly?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains you must to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Indeed. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply