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Many consider it the most memorable entrance in film history – and he remains without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, must walk the line of detention units until she reaches Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, his face resembling an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless right up until he lunges at the barrier, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, far from the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: he was already established, but a legend emerged. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his icily exacting acting coach Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a painful subject for Anthony, who also describes how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union during the 60s to his first wife, 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 with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a baker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and refused to displaying emotion, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the way they had to go begging to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. He was a poor student at his new school. Then, during in an English lesson he had to recite the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, started his career. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time financial aid was available to attend Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, which he preferred over theater. He stopped drinking in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more studied. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He remembers having lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Is that so?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who believes it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Quite so. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply