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Many consider it the most memorable entrance in cinematic history – while he stands utterly motionless.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, proceeds down the line of detention units until she reaches Hannibal Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, his face resembling an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, unnervingly still clad in a tight prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen before suddenly he propels himself toward the window, making that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless real-crime films have since shown that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, with nothing resembling the actor's captivating film persona.

He wasn't exactly an unknown at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was forged. His Dr. Lecter was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin as recalled by his daughter, as well as his icily exacting drama teacher his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a sore point for Hopkins, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret concerning Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage in 1966 to his first wife, who disliked his time away and his alcohol use.

The book's name comes from an historical picture of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the child who might have felt he couldn't make it. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth raised in Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a baker and a tough individual, a straightforward talker who loathed the religious hypocrites at the church and avoided displaying emotion, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who furiously resented the necessity of going begging to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We are all expecting handouts! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. Then, during in an English lesson he was required to perform John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he shocked the educator and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, pursued acting, and amazingly to his parents, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time scholarships existed for drama school – a path to success for performers from modest means. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but fortunately found a great TV role as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to characters including in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in cinema, which he liked more over theater. And he quit booze in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and so survived through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

During the second part of the book his character seems more elusive, more studied. A few tales fall a bit flat. He recalls having lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for him to absorb something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with Stone's dismissal that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Truly?

He consistently acts as the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks you must to get there on time, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Indeed. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A straightforward and sincere nature – he must speak truth!”

Hopkins concludes his book with an extensive addendum composed simply