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

A young FBI agent, a rookie, navigates a corridor of cells arriving at Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, his face resembling a living skull exuding demonic evil, chillingly static wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move until the moment he throws himself toward the window, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that real-life murderers are often very boring, with nothing resembling Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film in 1989: a star wasn't born, but a legend was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and on his own rigorously precise acting coach his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a difficult topic for Anthony, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret about Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union during the 60s to his first wife, who disliked his time away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a baker and man's man, a plain speaker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and refused to showing his emotions, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who furiously resented the necessity of going humbly to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. But one day during an English class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then scholarships existed to attend Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but lucked into a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, which he liked more to the stage. He stopped drinking back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live through midlife to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He recalls going out for lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it is one's responsibility to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Indeed. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A Shakespearean like him 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!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply