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Widely regarded as the most memorable entrance in film history – while he stands completely still.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, navigates the line of detention units finally encountering Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, with features like a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move before suddenly he propels himself at the barrier, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous real-crime films have since demonstrated that real-life murderers are often very boring, lacking anything like Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He was not an unknown upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own rigorously precise Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a sore point for the actor, who recounts how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a bread-maker and man's man, a straightforward talker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and avoided showing his emotions, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. Then, during in a literature class he had to recite the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, started his career. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days financial aid was available to go to Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe 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 successful acting career in movies, which he preferred over theater. And he quit booze back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the book he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He recalls having lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Really?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who believes it's your duty to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Absolutely. But he also recounts facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply