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It stands as the most memorable entrance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, must walk the line of detention units finally encountering Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. He is positioned, with features like a living skull exuding demonic evil, unnervingly still clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen until the moment he lunges at the barrier, making that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since demonstrated that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, with nothing resembling the actor's captivating film persona.

He was not an unknown when he landed the part that won him an Oscar in the 1991 thriller in 1989: he was already established, instead, a superstar was cemented. His portrayal of Lecter drew influence, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on Joseph Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, and on his own strictly demanding acting coach Christopher Fettes. Additionally, there existed a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a difficult topic for Anthony, who further explains how his King Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse concerning Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage during the 60s with Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of a young Hopkins with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He felt confused, lonely, vulnerable little boy raised in Port Talbot, son of Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a baker and a traditional male, a plain speaker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and avoided expressing his feelings, but had a streak of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who deeply disliked the way they had to go cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves during the car ride. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a time. Anthony struggled academically at the prestigious school. But one day in a literature class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield titled The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He convincingly states that poems, alone, launched him. Combined with participating in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, entered the acting world, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting alongside Laurence Olivier at the famous theater in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, though at that time scholarships existed to go to Rada – a way up for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then left the room and burst into tears.

As for the hot-tempered, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe in a moment of anger – much to Olivier's disappointment and disapproval – but lucked into a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which led indirectly to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career on screen, which he preferred to the stage. He stopped drinking in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and thus made it through midlife to achieve remarkable acting, such as Lecter, the steward Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson with Emma Thompson and the senior with memory loss in his film The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more studied. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He remembers being taken out to lunch by his co-star 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 something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Hardly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven due to resentment. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks it's your duty to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and proceed with the work. Indeed. Yet he also tells confronting an obnoxious director who brought a background actor to tears: “Say sorry to her! And learn some manners. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! He appears to be an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that came with it. An actor of his caliber must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he is compelled to be honest!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a detailed supplement composed simply