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It stands as the most memorable appearance in cinematic history – while he stands utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, must walk a corridor of cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. He is positioned, his face resembling an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, chillingly static wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless right up until he lunges toward the window, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since shown that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Hopkins' captivating film persona.

He was not an unknown when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film back in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and also from his strictly demanding Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a sore point for Anthony, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and drinking.

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 kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a pastry chef and man's man, a direct communicator who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked how they were forced humbly to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. He was a poor student at his new school. Then, during during an English class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other students. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then there were grants to go to Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but fortunately found an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly 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 in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into his later years to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of the book he appears more reserved, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He remembers having lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for him to absorb something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Hardly. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who thinks it is one's responsibility to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Quite so. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply