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Widely regarded as the most memorable introduction in film history – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, must walk the line of detention units until she reaches the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. There he stands, appearing as an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move right up until he lunges toward the window, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He was not an unknown when he landed that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: he was already established, but rather a megastar emerged. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, as well as his icily exacting Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a painful subject for Hopkins, who also describes how his King Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and drinking.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a bread-maker and man's man, a straightforward talker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and didn't believe in showing his emotions, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked the way they had to go humbly to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. But one day during an English class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated without much hope, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time there were grants to attend Rada – a path to success for working-class actors. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but lucked into an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, that he favored over theater. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and thus made it through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the book he appears more reserved, more calculated. A few tales fall a bit flat. He remembers going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who believes it's your duty to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Indeed. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. An actor of his caliber is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply