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It stands as the most memorable introduction in film history – while he stands completely still.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, must walk a corridor of cells arriving at Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. He is positioned, appearing as a living skull exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless right up until he propels himself at the barrier, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since shown that real-life murderers are often very boring, with nothing resembling Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and on his own strictly demanding Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a sore point for the actor, who further explains how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union in 1966 to his first wife, who was angered by him being away and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a baker and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who despised the religious hypocrites in their community and avoided displaying emotion, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who was angered by how they were forced cap-in-hand to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. But one day in a literature class he had to recite the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then there were grants to go to Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, that he favored compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He mentions going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it's your duty to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and do the job. Indeed. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply