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Many consider it the greatest appearance in movie lore – while he stands without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, must walk the line of detention units arriving at Dr. Lecter's transparent prison. The man is present, appearing as a skeletal visage radiating satanic malice, eerily immobile clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He remains motionless before suddenly he propels himself at the barrier, producing that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of documentaries on serial killers have since revealed that genuine criminals are often very boring, with nothing resembling Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He was not unrecognized when he landed that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar emerged. His Dr. Lecter drew influence, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, on the classic Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, as well as his icily exacting acting coach his instructor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a painful subject for the actor, who recounts how his King Lear was indirectly affected by deep-seated remorse about Abigail, the estranged daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who disliked his absences and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Hopkins as a toddler on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he would never do OK. He was a bewildered, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the standout secondary character here: a bread-maker and man's man, a plain speaker who detested the religious hypocrites at the church and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of wistful, tearful romanticism. His father who furiously resented how they were forced humbly to their rich relatives such as Aunt Patty, who was connected to the famous Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a posh school: “Due to their immense riches!” he shouts during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. He was a poor student in his new institution. Then, during during an English class he had to recite the poem by Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, started his career. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, went into acting, and amazingly to his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He accomplished it mostly independently, though at that time there were grants to attend Rada – an opportunity for working-class actors. His father was always amazed of Anthony's global success: upon requesting his son to recite the Yorick speech from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then left the room and burst into tears.

Regarding the fiery, stubborn individual, he departed the theatrical troupe out of frustration – to Olivier's profound dismay and displeasure – but lucked into a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, that he favored compared to stage acting. He stopped drinking back in 1975 after being a heavy drinker, and managed to live into middle age to deliver outstanding roles, like Hannibal Lecter, the butler Stevens in The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in the movie The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the memoir his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He mentions having lunch alongside his cast mate in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Paul Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the moment for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star from Goodfellas? Not exactly. He tends to concur with the director's criticism of Sorvino as being motivated out of envy. Is that so?

He repeatedly performs the grounded, serious thespian who believes it's your duty to be on time, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Quite so. However, he also describes confronting an obnoxious director who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. If you ever repeat that around me, I'll rearrange your face! He appears to be a person who quit alcohol but possibly not the combativeness that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply