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It stands as the most iconic entrance in film history – and he remains completely still.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, must walk the line of detention units arriving at Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. He is positioned, his face resembling a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move right up until he throws himself against the glass, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, far from Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and on his own rigorously precise drama teacher his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a painful subject for Anthony, who further explains how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a pastry chef and man's man, a plain speaker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and refused to showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who was angered by how they were forced cap-in-hand to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. Then, during in a literature class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated without much hope, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then financial aid was available for drama school – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a potential 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 successful acting career on screen, which he preferred to the stage. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the book he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He remembers going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it is one's responsibility to be on time, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Absolutely. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply