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Many consider it the most memorable appearance in movie lore – while he stands without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, navigates the line of detention units until she reaches the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. There he stands, appearing as a living skull radiating satanic malice, chillingly static clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen right up until he lunges toward the window, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like the actor's commanding screen presence.

He was not a newcomer at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: he was already established, but a legend was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, 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 rigorously precise Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a difficult topic for Anthony, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a bread-maker and man's man, a direct communicator who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and avoided showing his emotions, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who was angered by how they were forced humbly to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he shouts while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, temporarily. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. However, one day in a literature class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, went into acting, and shocking his family, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, 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: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to roles such as in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, which he liked more compared to stage acting. And he quit booze during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He remembers having lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Truly?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who thinks it is one's responsibility to get there on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Absolutely. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply