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Many consider it the greatest introduction in cinematic history – while he stands without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, a rookie, navigates a row of prison cells finally encountering Dr. Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, his face resembling a living skull exuding demonic evil, eerily immobile clad in a tight blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless until the moment he throws himself toward the window, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of real-crime films have since demonstrated that genuine criminals are usually uninteresting, far from Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He wasn't exactly a newcomer at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but a legend was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, as well as his icily exacting Rada tutor Christopher Fettes. There was also a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a difficult topic for Anthony, who further explains how his King Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his initial marriage back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who disliked him being 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 kid who maybe thought he couldn't make it. He appeared lost, lonely, vulnerable little boy from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in the narrative: a pastry chef and a traditional male, a straightforward talker who loathed the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and avoided displaying emotion, but had a streak of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. His father who was angered by the necessity of going begging to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and could get the young Anthony into a prestigious academy: “Because they're bloody rich!” he shouts during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The humility worked, for a while. Anthony struggled academically in his new institution. However, one day in a literature class he was required to perform the poem by Masefield The West Wind – sight unseen – and that voice came to life; he shocked the educator and his classmates. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the dramatic society at the YMCA. Remarkably, he left school a no-hoper, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was acting with the great Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He more or less did it on his own, although in those days scholarships existed to attend Rada – an opportunity for performers from modest means. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then left the room and burst into tears.

Concerning the volatile, bloody-minded son, he departed the theatrical troupe in a fit of pique – to Olivier's profound dismay and disapproval – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in the show based on Uris's work, which eventually resulted to roles such as in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a successful acting career in movies, which he liked more over theater. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and so survived into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of the book he appears more reserved, more studied. A few tales doesn't quite come off. He remembers going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the opportunity for Hopkins to learn a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated by jealousy. Is that so?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who maintains you must to be on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Indeed. However, he also describes 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 an individual who stopped drinking yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply