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Many consider it the most iconic entrance in film history – yet the actor stays completely still.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, proceeds down the line of detention units until she reaches Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. He is positioned, his face resembling a living skull filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move until the moment he propels himself toward the window, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, far from the actor's powerful on-screen charisma.

He was not a newcomer when he landed that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: he was already established, but rather a megastar was forged. His Dr. Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and on his own strictly demanding acting coach his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a painful subject for Anthony, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a plain speaker who loathed the religious hypocrites of the chapel and avoided showing his emotions, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who deeply disliked how they were forced cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. Then, during during an English class he had to recite John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days financial aid was available to go to Rada – an opportunity for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but fortunately found an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he preferred over theater. He stopped drinking in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it through midlife to execute great performances, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of the book his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. A few tales fall a bit flat. He mentions going out for lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Really?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it is one's responsibility to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Indeed. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply