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Widely regarded as the most memorable introduction in movie lore – while he stands without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, must walk the line of detention units finally encountering Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, appearing as an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless before suddenly he propels himself against the glass, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since shown that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: he was already established, instead, a superstar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and also from his strictly demanding drama teacher Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a sore point for the actor, who also describes how his King Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked him being away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and refused to expressing his feelings, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who furiously resented the way they had to go humbly to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. Then, during in a literature class he had to recite the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was on stage with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days scholarships existed to attend Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but lucked into an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as 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 during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of the memoir he appears more reserved, more calculated. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He recalls having lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Quite so. Yet he also tells facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply