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Widely regarded as the greatest appearance in cinematic history – while he stands without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, navigates a corridor of cells until she reaches Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, his face resembling a living skull filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen right up until he propels himself toward the window, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless real-crime films have since demonstrated that genuine criminals are often very boring, with nothing resembling Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar emerged. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his icily exacting drama teacher Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a painful subject for the actor, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a direct communicator who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and avoided showing his emotions, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who was angered by the necessity of going cap-in-hand to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. Then, during in an English lesson he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then scholarships existed to go to Rada – a way up for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, which he liked more over theater. He stopped drinking in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He mentions having lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Truly?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it's your duty to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Absolutely. But he also recounts facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. A Shakespearean like him must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply