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It stands as the greatest entrance in movie lore – and he remains completely still.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, proceeds down a corridor of cells arriving at Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, his face resembling a living skull filled with sinister intent, chillingly static in his form-fitting prisoner's blue outfit. He doesn't move until the moment he throws himself at the barrier, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Countless real-crime films have since revealed that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, far from the actor's commanding screen presence.

He was not unrecognized at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: it wasn't his debut, instead, a superstar was cemented. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader based on his daughter's accounts, and also from his strictly demanding Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect in these moments; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who also describes how his portrayal of Lear was indirectly affected by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his failed first union in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a bread-maker and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and refused to displaying emotion, but also exhibited nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked the necessity of going begging to their rich relatives like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the famous Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into an elite school: “Due to their immense riches!” he exclaims while traveling there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The humility worked, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. However, one day in an English lesson he was required to perform the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his talent emerged; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, propelled him forward. Combined with participating in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated a no-hoper, entered the acting world, and shocking his family, was performing alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, even though back then there were grants for drama school – an opportunity for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: on asking his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Concerning the volatile, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but stumbled upon a memorable TV character playing an alleged war criminal in the series QB VII, which eventually resulted to characters including in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he liked more to the stage. And he quit booze in 1975 having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and thus made it into his later years to execute great performances, including Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in The Father – his second Oscar.

In the later sections of his autobiography he appears more reserved, more calculated. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He mentions being taken out to lunch with his fellow actor in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his performance as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor from Goodfellas? Not exactly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection that Sorvino was acting due to resentment. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who maintains you must to be on time, learn everyone's name on set and proceed with the work. Absolutely. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who caused a young extra to weep: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. Should you ever act that way around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent from Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with an extensive addendum composed simply