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It stands as the greatest introduction in movie lore – yet the actor stays utterly motionless.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, navigates a row of prison cells arriving at the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, his face resembling a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move until the moment he propels himself against the glass, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, far from the actor's captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his strictly demanding acting coach his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a difficult topic for Anthony, who recounts how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s to his first wife, who disliked his time away and his alcohol use.

The title originates from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a baker and man's man, a direct communicator who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and avoided displaying emotion, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who was angered by how they were forced humbly to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and could get young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. Then, during in a literature class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He convincingly states that poems, alone, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then scholarships existed to go to Rada – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, that he favored to the stage. He gave up alcohol in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He mentions having lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Absolutely. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that went with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply