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Many consider it the most iconic entrance in film history – and he remains utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, proceeds down the line of detention units finally encountering the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. The man is present, with features like an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, eerily immobile wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless before suddenly he lunges against the glass, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless true-crime documentaries have since shown that real-life murderers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his strictly demanding Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a sore point for Anthony, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a baker and man's man, a direct communicator who detested the religious hypocrites of the chapel and didn't believe in showing his emotions, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who furiously resented how they were forced cap-in-hand to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “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 humility worked, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. But one day in an English lesson he was required to perform John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. 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 performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days scholarships existed for drama school – an opportunity for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then went into another room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career on screen, that he favored compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into middle age to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more studied. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He mentions being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who sought to advise him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn advice from the renowned performer of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Is that so?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who thinks it is one's responsibility to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Indeed. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. A Shakespearean like him must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply