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It stands as the most memorable entrance in film history – and he remains without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, must walk a row of prison cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. He is positioned, appearing as an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, chillingly static wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen before suddenly he lunges toward the window, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are often very boring, far from Anthony Hopkins's captivating film persona.

He was not unrecognized when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller in 1989: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar emerged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his strictly demanding acting coach his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension to these scenes; a sore point for Hopkins, who also describes how his King Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who resented his time away and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a pastry chef and man's man, a plain speaker who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and didn't believe in displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who was angered by the way they had to go begging to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. Then, during in an English lesson he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He reasonably claims that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, went into acting, 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, though at that time there were grants to attend Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, which he liked more to the stage. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into middle age to execute great performances, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the memoir he appears more reserved, more deliberate. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He recalls having lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains it's your duty to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Absolutely. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking but possibly not the combativeness that went with it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply