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

Clarice Starling, new to the job, must walk the line of detention units finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, his face resembling a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile wearing a snug blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless before suddenly he throws himself against the glass, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since shown that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling Hopkins' powerful on-screen charisma.

Hopkins was hardly unrecognized at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but a legend was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own rigorously precise drama teacher Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a sore point for Anthony, who recounts how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union back in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked him being away and drinking.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a baker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who was angered by how they were forced humbly to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he raves while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. However, one day during an English class he needed to deliver 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 verse, by itself, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school with low prospects, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was performing with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, even though back then financial aid was available to attend Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, that he favored compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of the memoir he appears more reserved, more studied. Certain stories aren't entirely successful. He remembers going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not exactly. 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 maintains it's your duty to get there on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Indeed. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologize to that girl! And develop some respect. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply