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Widely regarded as the most memorable entrance in movie lore – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, navigates the line of detention units arriving at Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, with features like an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen before suddenly he throws himself against the glass, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless real-crime films have since shown that actual serial killers are often very boring, with nothing resembling Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not a newcomer when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his rigorously precise Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a sore point for the actor, who further explains how his Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who disliked him being away and drinking.

The title originates from an historical picture of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a baker and man's man, a plain speaker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and avoided showing his emotions, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who was angered by how they were forced humbly to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. Then, during during an English class he had to recite John Masefield's poem The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days scholarships existed to attend Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but lucked into a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he liked more to the stage. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and thus made it through midlife to execute great performances, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the memoir he appears more reserved, more studied. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He recalls going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Really?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it's your duty to be on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Indeed. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. 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 yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply