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It stands as the greatest introduction in movie lore – while he stands completely still.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, navigates a corridor of cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. The man is present, with features like a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, chillingly static clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless before suddenly he propels himself toward the window, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless real-crime films have since revealed that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, far from the actor's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film in 1989: a star wasn't born, but a legend was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own rigorously precise drama teacher his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a sore point for Hopkins, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and drinking.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and avoided displaying emotion, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked how they were forced humbly to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. Then, during in a literature class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He convincingly states that poems, alone, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time scholarships existed for drama school – 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 Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but fortunately found an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, that he favored compared to stage acting. And he quit booze in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He mentions being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Truly?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who maintains you must to be on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Absolutely. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A Shakespearean like him must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply