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Widely regarded as the most memorable introduction in cinematic history – and he remains without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, navigates a corridor of cells until she reaches Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. He is positioned, his face resembling an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He doesn't move until the moment he throws himself toward the window, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of true-crime documentaries have since revealed that genuine criminals are often very boring, far from the actor's commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer upon receiving the part that won him an Oscar in the iconic film during the late 80s: he was already established, but a legend was cemented. The character of Hannibal was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own strictly demanding acting coach Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a difficult topic for Anthony, who recounts how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a baker and a tough individual, a plain speaker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and avoided displaying emotion, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the way they had to go begging to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and helped enroll Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves in the car on the way 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. But one day during an English class he had to recite the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He convincingly states that poems, alone, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school a no-hoper, went into acting, and shocking his family, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then scholarships existed to go to Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: on asking his son to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which paved the way to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey on screen, which he liked more compared to stage acting. And he quit booze back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the memoir he appears more reserved, more studied. Certain stories doesn't quite come off. He mentions being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting by jealousy. Truly?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it is one's responsibility to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Absolutely. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he always tells the truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with a lengthy appendix composed simply