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It stands as the most memorable appearance in movie lore – while he stands completely still.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, must walk the line of detention units arriving at Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. The man is present, his face resembling a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, chillingly static wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless right up until he lunges against the glass, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, far from Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller in 1989: he was already established, instead, a superstar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his rigorously precise drama teacher Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a difficult topic for the actor, who recounts how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a pastry chef and man's man, a plain speaker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and avoided displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who furiously resented how they were forced humbly to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into an elite school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. However, one day in an English lesson he was required to perform John Masefield's poem known as 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, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, even though back then there were grants to go to Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but lucked into an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in cinema, which he preferred over theater. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s after being a heavy drinker, and so survived into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more calculated. A few tales fall a bit flat. He recalls being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not really. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it's your duty to arrive punctually, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Quite so. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply