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Widely regarded as the most iconic appearance in cinematic history – while he stands completely still.

A young FBI agent, a rookie, navigates a corridor of cells finally encountering the notorious doctor's secure glass tank. He is positioned, appearing as an animated death's head radiating satanic malice, chillingly static wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen right up until he propels himself against the glass, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since demonstrated that real-life murderers are often very boring, lacking anything like Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He was not unrecognized at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was inspired, the actor happily remembers in his recent memoir, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his rigorously precise drama teacher Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a parent-child dynamic within the narrative; a painful subject for Hopkins, who further explains how his Lear was unknowingly shaped by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his initial marriage in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked his time away and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he couldn't make it. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child hailing from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a baker and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers in their community and refused to displaying emotion, but also exhibited wistful, tearful romanticism. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked how they were forced cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, who was connected to the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure Anthony as a boy into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts while traveling there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. He was a poor student at the prestigious school. However, one day in an English lesson he had to recite John Masefield's poem known as The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other students. He says quite plausibly that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA theater group. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was performing with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then there were grants to attend Rada – a path to success for actors from humble backgrounds. His father was always amazed by his son's international fame: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's 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 in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a luminous film journey in movies, that he favored to the stage. He stopped drinking during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and so survived into middle age to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of his autobiography his character seems more elusive, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He mentions having lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. He tends to concur with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting out of envy. Truly?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who maintains you must to be on time, know all the crew's names and do the job. Quite so. But he also recounts confronting an obnoxious director who caused a young extra to weep: “Apologize to that girl! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A Shakespearean like him is aware of Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply