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Many consider it the most memorable appearance in cinematic history – while he stands completely still.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, must walk a row of prison cells arriving at Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, with features like an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless until the moment he lunges against the glass, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since shown that real-life murderers are often very boring, with nothing resembling Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller in 1989: he was already established, but a legend was forged. His Dr. Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his recent memoir, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his icily exacting Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension in these moments; a sore point for Hopkins, who also describes how his Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by him being away and his drinking habits.

The title originates from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a direct communicator who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who deeply disliked the necessity of going humbly to their wealthy relations such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. However, one day in an English lesson he had to recite the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He reasonably claims that verse, by itself, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days scholarships existed to go to Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but stumbled upon an excellent television part playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, which he liked more to the stage. 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 Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He mentions having lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it is one's responsibility to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Absolutely. But he also recounts facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. An actor of his caliber must know the lines about Kent from Cornwall from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply