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It stands as the most memorable entrance in film history – while he stands completely still.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, proceeds down the line of detention units arriving at Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, appearing as an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen before suddenly he throws himself against the glass, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since revealed that real-life murderers are often very boring, far from Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly an unknown when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film during the late 80s: he was already established, but a legend was cemented. The character of Hannibal drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, as well as his rigorously precise Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. There was also a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a sore point for Anthony, who also describes how his Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who disliked his time away and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and avoided displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who was angered by the way they had to go begging to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and could get the young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. Then, during during an English class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He convincingly states that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated without much hope, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time financial aid was available to attend Rada – a way up for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but lucked into a great TV role as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he liked more compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and managed to live through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the latter half of the memoir he appears more reserved, more calculated. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He recalls going out for lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Is that so?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains you must to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Quite so. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. A Shakespearean like him must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply