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Many consider it the most memorable introduction in film history – while he stands completely still.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, must walk the line of detention units finally encountering the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. He is positioned, with features like an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, chillingly static in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen right up until he throws himself toward the window, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since shown that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, far from the actor's captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly an unknown when he landed his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar emerged. The character of Hannibal drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin as recalled by his daughter, and also from his icily exacting acting coach his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a sore point for the actor, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who resented his absences and drinking.

The title originates from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a baker and man's man, a direct communicator who loathed the religious hypocrites in their community and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who was angered by how they were forced cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and could get Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. He was a poor student in his new institution. Then, during in an English lesson he was required to perform John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time financial aid was available to attend Rada – a way up for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but lucked into an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which led indirectly to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he preferred over theater. He stopped drinking back in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into his later years to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of the book his character seems more elusive, more studied. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He recalls having lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Truly?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it's your duty to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and get on with it. Absolutely. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply