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Many consider it the most memorable appearance in cinematic history – while he stands completely still.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, proceeds down a row of prison cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, his face resembling an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, chillingly static wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless before suddenly he lunges against the glass, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since shown that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling the actor's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film in 1989: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was forged. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and on his own icily exacting Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a painful subject for Anthony, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes 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 appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a baker and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who loathed the religious hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked the necessity of going cap-in-hand to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. But one day in an English lesson he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then financial aid was available to go to Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but stumbled upon an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, that he favored to the stage. And he quit booze in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live through midlife to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of the book he appears more reserved, more studied. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He mentions having lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it's your duty to be on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Absolutely. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply