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Many consider it the most iconic entrance in cinematic history – and he remains completely still.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, navigates a corridor of cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, with features like a living skull filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless until the moment he lunges toward the window, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, far from the actor's captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly an unknown at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and also from his icily exacting Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a difficult topic for Anthony, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who disliked him being away and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an historical picture of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a pastry chef and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who despised the religious hypocrites of the chapel and didn't believe in showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the way they had to go begging to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. But one day in a literature class he had to recite the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time there were grants to attend Rada – a path to success for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he preferred to the stage. He gave up alcohol in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it through midlife to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He recalls having lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it's your duty to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Absolutely. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply