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

Clarice Starling, new to the job, proceeds down a corridor of cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, his face resembling a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move right up until he propels himself at the barrier, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous real-crime films have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling the actor's commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film back in 1989: he was already established, but a legend emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own strictly demanding drama teacher Christopher Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who recounts how his King Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a direct communicator who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and avoided displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who furiously resented the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. Then, during in a literature class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated without much hope, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time financial aid was available to attend Rada – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and managed to live through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of the book he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He mentions going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who believes it is one's responsibility to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Quite so. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply