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

Clarice Starling, just starting out, must walk a row of prison cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, with features like a living skull radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen until the moment he propels himself toward the window, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since revealed that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was cemented. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his rigorously precise drama teacher Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a painful subject for Anthony, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who despised the religious hypocrites in their community and refused to displaying emotion, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the necessity of going begging to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. However, one day during an English class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, went into acting, and shocking his family, 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 for drama school – a way up for working-class actors. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but fortunately found a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, which he liked more to the stage. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the memoir he appears more reserved, more calculated. A few tales fall a bit flat. He remembers being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Truly?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes you must to get there on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Absolutely. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply