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It stands as the most iconic appearance in cinematic history – and he remains completely still.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, must walk the line of detention units until she reaches Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, appearing as an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, chillingly static clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen until the moment he throws himself at the barrier, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since revealed that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not a newcomer upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: he was already established, but rather a megastar was forged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his rigorously precise Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a difficult topic for the actor, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who disliked him being away and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites of the chapel and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the way they had to go humbly to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. He was a poor student in his new institution. However, one day in an English lesson he needed to deliver John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school without much hope, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time there were grants for drama school – a path to success for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – 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 eventually resulted to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of the book his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He recalls being taken out to lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Really?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who maintains you must to arrive punctually, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Absolutely. But he also recounts facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply