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Widely regarded as the most iconic entrance in movie lore – while he stands utterly motionless.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, proceeds down a corridor of cells arriving at Dr. 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 prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless before suddenly he propels himself against the glass, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that actual serial killers are often very boring, with nothing resembling the actor's captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: he was already established, but a legend was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his strictly demanding acting coach his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a painful subject for Hopkins, who further explains how his King Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked him being away and his drinking habits.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in this story: a baker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and avoided showing his emotions, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who deeply disliked the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their rich relatives including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and could get young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at the prestigious school. But one day in a literature class he was required to perform John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He reasonably claims that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was on stage alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then financial aid was available for drama school – an opportunity for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of the memoir he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He remembers going out for lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it's your duty to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and do the job. Indeed. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he always tells the truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply