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Many consider it the most iconic appearance in cinematic history – while he stands without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, proceeds down the line of detention units finally encountering Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, with features like a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, chillingly static clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move until the moment he lunges at the barrier, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was forged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and also from his icily exacting drama teacher his mentor Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a sore point for the actor, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes 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, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a baker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and didn't believe in showing his emotions, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked how they were forced humbly to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, temporarily. He was a poor student in his new institution. Then, during during an English class he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then scholarships existed to attend Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but lucked into an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of the book he appears more reserved, more deliberate. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He recalls having lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not really. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Really?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who thinks it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Quite so. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply