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It stands as the most memorable introduction in movie lore – yet the actor stays completely still.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, navigates a row of prison cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, appearing as a living skull filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move before suddenly he throws himself at the barrier, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are often very boring, lacking anything like Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but a legend emerged. His Dr. Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and also from his strictly demanding Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a sore point for Hopkins, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time 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 child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a baker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and refused to showing his emotions, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented how they were forced humbly to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. But one day in an English lesson he was required to perform John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He convincingly states that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time financial aid was available to attend Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but lucked into an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, that he favored to the stage. And he quit booze in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, 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 his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more studied. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He remembers going out for lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Hardly. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who maintains you must to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Indeed. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A Shakespearean like him must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply