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Widely regarded as the most memorable entrance in film history – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, navigates a row of prison cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's transparent prison. There he stands, his face resembling a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen until the moment he throws himself toward the window, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous real-crime films have since revealed that actual serial killers are often very boring, with nothing resembling Hopkins' captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his icily exacting acting coach his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a sore point for Hopkins, who recounts how his King Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who disliked him being away and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who was angered by the necessity of going begging to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. But one day in an English lesson he was required to perform the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting with the great Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He accomplished it mostly independently, although in those days scholarships existed for drama school – a way up for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but fortunately found a great TV role as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, which he preferred to the stage. He stopped drinking back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He recalls going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Really?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who maintains you must to be on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Indeed. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply