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Many consider it the greatest introduction in movie lore – and he remains without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, just starting out, navigates the line of detention units finally encountering Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. The man is present, his face resembling a living skull filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move right up until he throws himself toward the window, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless real-crime films have since revealed that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly an unknown upon receiving his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his strictly demanding Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a painful subject for the actor, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by an agonised guilt concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of Anthony as a small child playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a baker and man's man, a direct communicator who detested the religious hypocrites at the church and refused to showing his emotions, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the way they had to go begging to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. Then, during in a literature class he had to recite John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, launched him. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated without much hope, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days financial aid was available for drama school – a way up for performers from modest means. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and disapproval – but lucked into an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, that he favored to the stage. And he quit booze during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He recalls having lunch by his co-star in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for him to absorb something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who maintains it is one's responsibility to be on time, know all the crew's names and get on with it. Indeed. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a detailed supplement composed simply