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Many consider it the greatest introduction in cinematic history – and he remains completely still.

Clarice Starling, just starting out, must walk a corridor of cells until she reaches Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. There he stands, his face resembling an animated death's head filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still in his form-fitting blue prison jumpsuit. He stands frozen right up until he throws himself against the glass, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of real-crime films have since shown that actual serial killers tend to be quite dull, lacking anything like the actor's commanding screen presence.

He was not an unknown at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller in 1989: it wasn't his debut, but rather a megastar was cemented. His Dr. Lecter was based, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in this new autobiography, on Bela Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader as recalled by his daughter, as well as his rigorously precise drama teacher his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic to these scenes; a sore point for the actor, who further explains how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from an old wartime photo of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the boy who perhaps believed he wouldn't succeed. He appeared lost, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a baker and man's man, a straightforward talker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and didn't believe in showing his emotions, yet possessed a touch of nostalgic, emotional sentimentality. Richard Hopkins who furiously resented the way they had to go begging to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll young Anthony into an elite school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The pleading was effective, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. However, one day in a literature class he needed to deliver the poem by Masefield known as The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other boys. He says quite plausibly that verse, by itself, launched him. This, and joining the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, pursued acting, and shocking his family, was performing with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days scholarships existed for drama school – an opportunity for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, his father paid close attention and then went into another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – causing Olivier's regret and displeasure – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which paved the way to parts like that in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, that he favored compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and so survived into his later years to achieve remarkable acting, like Hannibal Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in his film The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the later sections of the memoir his character seems more elusive, more calculated. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He recalls going out for lunch by his co-star in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Paul, who sought to advise him his acting as Nixon wasn't working. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Anthony appears to agree with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Is that so?

He consistently acts as the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes you must to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and do the job. Quite so. However, he also describes standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And develop some respect. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol yet perhaps not the aggression that went with it. An actor of his caliber surely knows Cornwall's speech regarding Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a detailed supplement composed simply