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Many consider it the most iconic appearance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays completely still.

A young FBI agent, new to the job, navigates a corridor of cells arriving at the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, appearing as an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move before suddenly he lunges toward the window, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not a newcomer upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and on his own icily exacting drama teacher Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a sore point for Anthony, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who was angered by his absences and drinking.

The title originates from an historical picture of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a baker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who loathed the religious hypocrites in their community and refused to displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked how they were forced begging to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. But one day in an English lesson he had to recite the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated without much hope, went into acting, and shocking his family, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then financial aid was available to attend Rada – a way up for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but fortunately found an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He recalls going out for lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. He tends to concur with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Really?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it is one's responsibility to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Indeed. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply