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It stands as the greatest appearance in movie lore – while he stands completely still.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, proceeds down a corridor of cells finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. He is positioned, his face resembling an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move right up until he throws himself against the glass, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since shown that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling the actor's commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but a legend was forged. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his rigorously precise Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a painful subject for Hopkins, who further explains how his King Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a pastry chef and man's man, a straightforward talker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who was angered by how they were forced humbly to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and could get young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. However, one day in an English lesson he was required to perform the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – sight unseen – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, started his career. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated without much hope, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then financial aid was available to attend Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, which he liked more over theater. And he quit booze in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into middle age to execute great performances, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of the book he appears more reserved, more calculated. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He remembers having lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Really?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who thinks it's your duty to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and do the job. Quite so. However, he also describes facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber surely knows the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply