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It stands as the most iconic introduction in cinematic history – while he stands completely still.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, proceeds down the line of detention units finally encountering the notorious doctor's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, his face resembling a living skull exuding demonic evil, chillingly static wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless before suddenly he propels himself at the barrier, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since shown that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, far from Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but a legend was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, and also from his strictly demanding drama teacher his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a sore point for Hopkins, who further explains how his Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, his distant daughter from his failed first union during the 60s to his first wife, who resented him being away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a bread-maker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who despised the religious hypocrites of the chapel and avoided showing his emotions, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who deeply disliked the way they had to go begging to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student 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 seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time scholarships existed to attend Rada – an opportunity for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, which he preferred compared to stage acting. And he quit booze back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live through midlife to execute great performances, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

In the latter half of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more studied. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He mentions being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks you must to be on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Indeed. However, he also describes facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply