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It stands as the greatest appearance in film history – while he stands completely still.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, must walk the line of detention units finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. There he stands, appearing as a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless right up until he lunges at the barrier, emitting that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. A multitude of real-crime films have since revealed that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, lacking anything like the actor's captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly an unknown at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs in 1989: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and also from his icily exacting drama teacher Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a painful subject for Hopkins, who also describes how his King Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his absences and his drinking habits.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he would never do OK. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a plain speaker who loathed the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and didn't believe in displaying emotion, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented how they were forced cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. Then, during in an English lesson he was required to perform the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, started his career. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, pursued acting, and shocking his family, 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 financial aid was available for drama school – an opportunity for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of the book his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He remembers going out for lunch by his co-star in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who sought to advise him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight advice from the renowned performer of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Truly?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who believes it is one's responsibility to get there on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Quite so. However, he also describes facing a rude director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And acquire some decency. Should you ever act that way near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Hopkins sounds like a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply