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Many consider it the most memorable introduction in cinematic history – while he stands utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, must walk a corridor of cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, his face resembling a living skull filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless before suddenly he lunges at the barrier, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless real-crime films have since demonstrated that genuine criminals are often very boring, lacking anything like Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was cemented. The character of Hannibal was based, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his rigorously precise acting coach his mentor Fettes. There was also a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a difficult topic for Anthony, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and didn't believe in showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by how they were forced humbly to affluent family members including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. He was a poor student at his new school. Then, during in an English lesson he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time scholarships existed to attend Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he preferred to the stage. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live into middle age to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more studied. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He recalls going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who intended to inform him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Really?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and do the job. Absolutely. But he also recounts facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply