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

A young FBI agent, a rookie, must walk the line of detention units finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, with features like a living skull radiating satanic malice, chillingly static wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen until the moment he lunges against the glass, producing that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, far from Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He was not a newcomer when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar emerged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his icily exacting Rada tutor his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a sore point for Hopkins, who further explains how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 to his first wife, who was angered by his absences and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the child who might have felt he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the standout secondary character in the narrative: a baker and man's man, a direct communicator who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and refused to displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who furiously resented how they were forced humbly to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. However, one day in an English lesson he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then financial aid was available to go to Rada – an opportunity for working-class actors. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and criticism – but stumbled upon a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, that he favored over theater. And he quit booze during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into his later years to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. A few tales fall a bit flat. He mentions going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it's your duty to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and do the job. Absolutely. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply