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It stands as the most memorable appearance in cinematic history – and he remains completely still.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, navigates a corridor of cells until she reaches Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. There he stands, appearing as a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless until the moment he propels himself toward the window, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since shown that actual serial killers are often very boring, lacking anything like Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was forged. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own strictly demanding drama teacher his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a painful subject for Anthony, who recounts how his King Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who loathed the religious hypocrites in their community and refused to displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who deeply disliked the way they had to go cap-in-hand to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. But one day in an English lesson he was required to perform the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He convincingly states that poems, alone, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days there were grants to attend Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he preferred compared to stage acting. And he quit booze during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and so survived into middle age to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of the memoir he appears more reserved, more calculated. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He remembers being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Really?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks you must to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Absolutely. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry 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. A classical performer like Hopkins must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply