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

The FBI trainee, a rookie, must walk a corridor of cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. He is positioned, with features like a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, chillingly static in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless right up until he throws himself against the glass, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless real-crime films have since shown that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly unrecognized at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar emerged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, as well as his icily exacting drama teacher his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a sore point for Anthony, who recounts how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and avoided showing his emotions, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked the way they had to go humbly to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. However, one day in an English lesson he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other students. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, went into acting, and shocking his family, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time there were grants for drama school – a path to success for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, which he liked more over theater. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage fall a bit flat. He recalls having lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it's your duty to get there on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Indeed. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply