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It stands as the most memorable introduction in film history – while he stands without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, must walk the line of detention units until she reaches Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. The man is present, with features like a living skull filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen right up until he propels himself toward the window, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless true-crime documentaries have since shown that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, far from the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not unrecognized at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: he was already established, but rather a megastar was cemented. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and also from his icily exacting drama teacher his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a painful subject for Anthony, who also describes how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who disliked him being away and his alcohol use.

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 would never do OK. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a baker and man's man, a straightforward talker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented how they were forced humbly to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, for a time. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. However, one day in an English lesson he was required to perform John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was acting with the great 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 to attend Rada – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but lucked into a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, that he favored over theater. And he quit booze back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into middle age to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the memoir he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He remembers going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Really?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who thinks it is one's responsibility to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Absolutely. However, he also describes facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. An actor of his caliber is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply