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

Clarice Starling, new to the job, proceeds down a corridor of cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. The man is present, his face resembling an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move right up until he propels himself toward the window, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since shown that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Hopkins' captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but a legend was forged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his strictly demanding drama teacher Christopher Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a sore point for Hopkins, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 to his first wife, who resented him being away and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a direct communicator who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and refused to displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the way they had to go humbly to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. But one day in a literature class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, started his career. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then financial aid was available for drama school – a path to success for working-class actors. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He remembers going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who believes it is one's responsibility to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Absolutely. However, he also describes facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply