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It stands as the most iconic introduction in film history – while he stands without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, proceeds down a row of prison cells arriving at Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, his face resembling a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, chillingly static clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless right up until he throws himself against the glass, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are often very boring, far from Hopkins' captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film during the late 80s: he was already established, instead, a superstar emerged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own icily exacting drama teacher his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who also describes how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union during the 60s to his first wife, who disliked his absences and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a baker and man's man, a plain speaker who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented how they were forced begging to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. He was a poor student at his new school. However, one day in a literature class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He convincingly states that poems, alone, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then financial aid was available for drama school – an opportunity for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – 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 Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, which he liked more to the stage. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and so survived into his later years to execute great performances, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He remembers having lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it is one's responsibility to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Absolutely. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply