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It stands as the most iconic appearance in film history – while he stands without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, must walk a corridor of cells arriving at the notorious doctor's transparent prison. The man is present, with features like an animated death's head exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He remains motionless right up until he lunges against the glass, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since revealed that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in the 1991 thriller back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and on his own icily exacting acting coach his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a difficult topic for the actor, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who despised the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and avoided expressing his feelings, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who deeply disliked the necessity of going begging to affluent family members like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. Then, during in an English lesson he had to recite the poem by Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He convincingly states that poems, alone, started his career. This, and joining the dramatic society at the YMCA. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days scholarships existed to attend Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and began crying.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking back in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and so survived through midlife to execute great performances, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more calculated. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He mentions going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who maintains you must to be 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: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” He appears to be someone who gave up drink but possibly not the combativeness that came with it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply