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Widely regarded as the most iconic introduction in film history – while he stands utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, must walk a corridor of cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, with features like a living skull exuding demonic evil, chillingly static wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen until the moment he propels himself toward the window, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of real-crime films have since revealed that genuine criminals are often very boring, lacking anything like Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He was not unrecognized upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was forged. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and also from his strictly demanding drama teacher his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a painful subject for Anthony, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 to his first wife, who resented his absences and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and refused to expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the way they had to go begging to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims 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 while. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. However, one day during an English class he had to recite the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, started his career. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days scholarships existed for drama school – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and so survived through midlife to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the servant 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.

In the latter half of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He recalls going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Is that so?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it is one's responsibility to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Indeed. However, he also describes facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply