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Many consider it the greatest entrance in film history – while he stands without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, proceeds down a row of prison cells arriving at the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, with features like a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, chillingly static clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move before suddenly he propels himself toward the window, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, far from Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not an unknown when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar emerged. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his rigorously precise Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a painful subject for Anthony, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and drinking.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and refused to displaying emotion, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked the necessity of going begging to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. He was a poor student at his new school. Then, during during an English class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, launched him. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time financial aid was available for drama school – a path to success for working-class actors. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but fortunately found an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of the book he appears more reserved, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He mentions going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer from Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who believes you must to be on time, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Quite so. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply