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

A young FBI agent, a rookie, navigates a row of prison cells until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, his face resembling an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless right up until he propels himself toward the window, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and on his own icily exacting drama teacher Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a painful subject for the actor, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who disliked his time away and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a baker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who was angered by how they were forced humbly to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. But one day in a literature class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and his classmates. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, launched him. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then scholarships existed to go to Rada – a way up for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but stumbled upon a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, that he favored over theater. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He recalls going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Really?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains you must to get there on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Quite so. But he also recounts facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply