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Widely regarded as the most iconic appearance in movie lore – while he stands completely still.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, must walk the line of detention units finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, his face resembling an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, chillingly static wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen right up until he lunges at the barrier, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since revealed that real-life murderers are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He was not unrecognized when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was cemented. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own strictly demanding acting coach his instructor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a painful subject for the actor, who further explains how his Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure here: a baker and a tough individual, a direct communicator who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and avoided showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who deeply disliked the way they had to go humbly to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. Then, during in an English lesson he had to recite John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days financial aid was available for drama school – an opportunity for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but stumbled upon a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, that he favored over theater. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He remembers going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Is that so?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who believes it's your duty to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Quite so. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply